Candy Canes and Mistletoe
by iyimgrace
Summary: Set in season 6. House takes a chance that throws him and Thirteen into an intense and complicated romance. But is it real or is it just another addiction?
1. Chapter 1

**Candy Canes and Mistletoe**

_A/N: I was in need of some Christmas fluff and I missed my odd little pair. I still hold the lone candle that maybe…. just maybe the winds will blow back in this direction, I'd take it as a very late Christmas present in May maybe? During Sweeps? Ahhh, wishful thinking…. Anyway, enjoy!_

Christmas music poured merrily through the overhead speakers as people in both festive wear and scrubs mingled together in celebration of Christmas Eve. The lobby of the hospital had been transformed into a winter wonderland with sparkling garlands and glittery ornaments. Fake cotton snow stacked itself against the glass of the front windows rivaling the recent snow drifts put there by the recent storm a couple of days ago. The place smelled of cinnamon and fir and peppermint creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. It was a nice change, cheerful and happy instead of its usual antiseptic and sterile aroma.

Thirteen poured herself a cup of eggnog and wandered around the perimeter of the annual staff Christmas party. She wasn't normally into Christmas but she felt like participating even if it was just for a little bit. Everyone could use a little bit of Christmas cheer once in a while.

She carefully avoided Foreman and the team because she was so not interested in starting anything back up with him. No, that ship had sunk to the bottom of the ocean right there next to the Titanic, never to be salvaged again. She was done with him; he had made sure of that. She had cared about him once but he had taken her for granted and she couldn't forgive him. So, she was a free agent once again and she wanted to keep her options open. There was a really cute nurse in Pedes with a rocking body, long brown hair and a pretty smile but, since she was on her whole non-self-destructive path, Thirteen figured a little bi-fling was probably not in her best interest at the moment. That option out of the question, she meandered and engaged in idle chitchat with some of the nurses from the clinic and the other doctors she'd known from working this past summer the ER. It was odd that Cameron wasn't there this year. She had been such a staple in the hospital since she'd arrived that it felt a little empty without her. Thirteen looked over to Chase to see how he was doing. He was trying his best to keep jovial among the people who had known about his rather quick separation from his wife. Most were kind and supportive and that was nice.

Time was passing and it was getting late. Thirteen was about to go home when suddenly, she felt his eyes on her. He was here, somewhere. She smiled as she sipped the thick creamy eggnog, spiked with Spiced Rum. It brought a flush to her cheeks as the warmth hit her belly. She knew however that it was really the combination of the alcohol and the knowledge that he was watching her… again. He was always watching her lately. She could usually tell because her skin would tingle as if those baby blues could actually caress the outline of her body like fingers in a lover's touch. Each time he did it, her breath would catch in her chest and her stomach would squeeze in anticipation. Outwardly she showed disdain for it, but secretly she loved it. It reminded her of how he used to look at her in the beginning, how he'd bicker and flirt with her over the dumbest things while he stared at her with those incredibly intense eyes. Looking up, she saw him leaning over the balcony railing casually observing the party he had no intention of attending. His eyes met hers and he gave her an almost imperceptible smile, caught in his stalking. Smiling, she grabbed a candy cane from the sparkling tree and took the elevator up to the second floor.

She met him at the polished wood of the banister. He was in his usually getup, tweed blazer over a wrinkled blue shirt and printed rock tee underneath. His jeans were faded and comfortable and his sneakered feet were crossed at the ankles in a casual pose as he leaned on his elbows just staring out into the festivities below. Somehow he always made that scruffy mess look damn good.

House slid a sidelong glance at her as she approached him and nodded his head once to acknowledge her presence.

"I brought you a candy cane," she told him holding it out for him to take.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Are you mocking me?"

Grinning, she twirled the striped confection between her fingers. "Maybe."

He pursed his lips into a frown and grabbed her eggnog instead. "I rather have this."

Chuckling, she let the cup go and unwrapped the candy cane, breaking off a piece and popping it into her mouth as she watched him sip from her cup. "So how come you're even still here? I thought you couldn't stand these little shindigs?"

He frowned at her and looked to the floor below. "I'm supposed to be doing homework."

Thirteen arched a curious eyebrow at him. "And avoiding it like clinic duty, I take it?"

He tipped his head to the side and smiled sheepishly. "My therapist wants me to go to a party and mingle. Says I still need to practice trusting people. Something about human connections… blah, blah, blah…"

"Well, I think the twenty foot distance and the wooden railing kind of make for difficult small talk," she quipped looking out to the crowd of people down below. "You're therapist would not be pleased."

"I'm talking to you," he declared with a hopeful lilt to his voice. "Doesn't that count?"

"Well, since you know me already, I'm thinking, 'no'."

"Technicalities," he shrugged stubbornly.

"You should go downstairs, talk to people," she suggested. "They're really not that bad once you get to know them. They don't bite, you know."

He shook his head and frowned again, ruefully this time. "I'm thinking, 'no'," he echoed her words.

"Why not?" she teased. "You too shy?"

He rolled his eyes and lifted the corner of his mouth into a bashful little smile. He was shy, even more that he was before. He really didn't know how to do the human connection thing. He sucked at it.

Chuckling, Thirteen took her cup back, accidentally grazing his fingers in the process. Their eyes met for a brief second as a spark of something different passed between them. Blaming it on too much eggnog, Thirteen hid her smile and sipped the drink before handing it to him offering him more. He took it from her with a smirk, toasting her before sipping a bit and leaning back over the railing.

Thirteen mirrored his pose and just watched for a bit. It was quiet up here, almost peaceful and she began to understand why he liked to come here. He could observe quietly away from the fray protected by the distance, watching the social interaction without having to partake in it.

After a few moments, Cuddy walked by in a bright red holiday sweater holding her daughter escorted by Lucas. Thirteen watched her from above as the elegant woman greeted and chatted happily introducing her daughter and new beau to everyone. The woman's soft hair shown in a glisten of warm chestnut; she was lovely in the glow of her little family. Feeling a pang of regret for House, Thirteen slid her eyes to the side trying to judge his reaction to the scene before them. His face looked passive, almost lost in thought. She knew what had happened off of this very balcony six months ago. She knew how he had fantasized about their boss as he had plummeted to the depths of his addiction and psychosis. It was sad and heartbreaking and she wondered if he had come to terms with it.

"Does it bother you?" House asked all of a sudden.

Taking her eyes away from Cuddy, Thirteen turned to face him. "Does _what_ bother me?"

"Foreman, being here," he said. "It's been a year since…"

Arching her eyebrow at him, she made a face. He always did that, turned the situation back on her. "It's been a year since Rachel was born," she deflected. "Does that bother you that she's here with him?"

His lips twitched into a thin wry smirk and then he looked at her, pinning her to her spot with his crystal clear blue eyes. "No."

"Why do you care?" she countered, "If it bothers me or not?"

His eyebrows came together in a deep contemplative crease like they did when he was perplexed and subsequently annoyed by it. "Why do you care?"

"I asked you first," she replied obstinately.

"No reason," he shrugged.

Shaking her head, Thirteen laughed. "You're so full of shit. You wouldn't have asked me if it didn't matter to you. You only asked questions when you want real answers."

"And you only avoid answers when there are real answers to be had," he shot back, narrowing his eyes speculatively.

Sighing, she stared at him. His eyes continued to search her and she knew he wouldn't cease until he got what he wanted. "I'm over Foreman. I've moved on," she replied simply. "Your turn."

His eyebrows twitched and he took a step closer to her. "There never was anything between me and Cuddy."

"Wow, I think you just got an A plus on your homework," she said.

He chuckled at her and closed his eyes. "Smart ass."

Looking down, she realized that her hand was on the lapel of his jacket. _When did that happen?_ He was standing so close to her that she could smell the scent of his skin. It was intoxicating. She had always been attracted to him despite his cantankerous ways. And in the beginning it was no secret that he found her attractive, as well. They had kind of circulated around their mutual fascination for each other ever since then, never really crossing that line of respectability for one reason or another. She wondered what was going on now as his eyes turned a deep shade of sapphire. Removing her hand from his chest, she took a step backward but he moved closer, closing her hand under his to keep her fingers where they were.

"What are you doing?" she asked him breathlessly.

"I don't know," he whispered honestly.

Pulling her back away from the railing closer to the wall and away from prying eyes, he brought his hand up from the pocket of his jacket and held it above their heads with a boyish little smirk on his lips.

Looking up, she smiled broadly, feeling like a giddy teenager. "Is that mistletoe?"

"Yup," he said with a self-conscious laugh. His face became serious again as he tucked the sprig of green leaves behind her ear. The white berries tickled the skin of her cheek.

A piano version of 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas' began to play in the background and she smiled self-consciously as his eyes drifted to her lips. She felt her tongue come out of it's own volition to moisten her lips in anticipation of his kiss. _God, what was she doing_? She wanted him to kiss her so badly. Suddenly, she realized that she'd wanted this for a long time.

Instinctively, she lifted her chin to him and closed her eyes as he slowly closed the distance between them. Touching his lips to hers, his kiss was tentative at first, soft and gentle as if he was afraid she might reject him. His lips were smooth, warm and the soft scruff of his beard scratched against the corner of her mouth, tantalizing her senses. Allaying any of his concerns, she sighed and melted into him accepting his kiss wholeheartedly. Parting her mouth to allow him access to deepen it, his tongue came out to mingle with hers in a slow, sensuous dance. He was smooth and sexy and tasted of eggnog and rum, sweet and strong. It was exciting. A heat coursed through her as he continued to kiss her. She couldn't believe in her wildest dreams she was kissing House but she was thoroughly enjoying every second of it. It was truly amazing and she tingled all over, now that he was actually touching her. He was absolutely electric.

Slowly, his hands came around her waist pulling her closer to him. His fingers splayed against her back holding her with his surprisingly delicate touch. Spurred on by his passion for her, her hands wound their way around to the back of his neck where her fingers touched the soft silvery hair at the base of his head. He deepened the kiss to an urgency that fanned the flames of desire within her. He was seductive, passionate and incredibly male. The more he touched her the more she couldn't get enough of him.

When their lungs burned with the need for air, he broke their connection, leaving her feeling charged and practically begging for more. His hands still held her to him as he rested his forehead against hers regaining his breath. Her own breathing came in heavy drags as she tried to gain control over the incredible desire she was feeling for him. He pulled away from her further severing their connection. Her hands trailed along his arms to his hands, not really willing to let him go just yet. His eyes were dark and heavy. He looked confused and awkwardly torn about what to do next.

Thirteen smiled at him, letting her fingers linger on his for a second to let him know that she was glad he had taken the chance.

Making his decision, his expression changed to his guarded one that he always wore as he retreated back into his protective shell. "Merry Christmas, Thirteen."

"Merry Christmas, House," she said with a smile.

Letting go of her hand, he turned and entered the elevator, leaving her standing there alone on the balcony. Thirteen touched her hand to her lips still feeling the electric current of his touch. Closing her eyes, she laughed to herself, tickled by what had just happened. House had kissed her, thoroughly kissed her senseless. Though they would probably never share another kiss again, it was a rare moment with him that she would treasure always. She saw a glimpse into his humanity. He was human. He was vulnerable and sweet. It was nice.

Leaning over the balcony, she watched him as he came out onto the floor of the lobby. He went immediately over to Cuddy. He shook Lucas's hand and gave Cuddy a kiss on the cheek. The woman looked surprised, indeed, by the casual display of affection but smiled warmly at him in return. Leaving them with some kind of sentiment that Thirteen couldn't discern, he meandered over to the Christmas tree where he picked up a candy cane. Fingering the hook of it contemplatively, he looked up behind him to her. Their eyes met again for another electrified moment before he smiled at her. He had made a connection to her and he seemed pleased by it, almost happy about it. She picked up the cup of eggnog that he had placed on the ledge of the wall beneath the banister and tipped it at him with a smile. She had affected him and that made something in her chest squeeze in excitement. He smiled broadly at her then, and winked before going off to find Wilson.

Thirteen let out a deep breath, smiling at his retreating back.

Maybe not the last kiss… _Merry Christmas, indeed._


	2. Chapter 2

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 2

_A/N: My little Christmas gift to all those who requested more. Ask and ye shall receive! I went back and fixed my non-beta-ed mistakes in last chapter. Figured I'd give the girls some time off… So go back and read it just to get the fluffy goodness again that lead into this interlude chapter. I will have another one on the way! Merry Xmas!_

* * *

"For the love of God, just text her already!"

"No."

"You've checked your damn phone every five minutes for the past two hours," Wilson griped with an air of impatience. "She's not going to text you if you don't text her first."

"I'm not waiting for her to text me. I'm checking the score of the game," House replied forcing himself to grab the wedge of parmesan cheese instead of his phone again. "I have good money riding on the Lakers."

"They're up by twenty," Wilson informed him pointedly. "I have the game on."

_I have the game on_… House mocked under his breath. Figures. He shaved the parmesan cheese into his gently simmering Bolognese to add a touch of sharpness to the rich mixture. Curling the wafting aroma towards him with his hand, he inhaled the delicious aroma of his latest concoction. Ground Veal with a touch of Chianti and fresh basil and garlic. It smelled incredible.

Wilson came in to search for a beer in the refrigerator. "So why don't you just text her?"

"There's nothing to say," House replied nonchalantly as he stirred his sauce.

"Nothing to say?" Wilson scoffed. "You kissed her!"

"It wasn't…" he began but Wilson cut him off, wagging his finger at him.

"Not only did you kiss her but you held mistletoe over her head, like you meant to do it," Wilson stated, pointing that accusatory finger at his chest. "It was premeditated kissing."

"It was not 'premeditated kissing'," House argued. "I just happened to have picked up a piece from… somewhere." _God, that sounded lame, even to him_. "I wasn't a big deal. She's probably forgotten about it by now."

"Um, yes, I'm sure she's forgotten all about kissing her boss under the mistletoe that he placed in her hair, at the staff Christmas party, only a month after he tried to keep her from going to Thailand by cancelling her plane tickets," Wilson carried on. "Yes, you're absolutely right, she's totally dismissed it."

"She thinks you canceled those tickets not me," House said busying himself with peeling pears to poach in a champagne and honey reduction for desert.

"Yes, that's what you should focus in that sarcastic comment," Wilson rolled his eyes. "My fake canceling of her tickets, not the fact that you did it because you need her to be around."

"I don't need her to be around," he denied glancing at his phone again. He hadn't heard it vibrate but there was some part of him that was hoping if he looked at it enough, he'd will it to receive a message.

Wilson crossed his arms and leaned against the counter's edge watching House intently as he maneuvered around the kitchen. "You do need her to be around. You like to have her around. You like her. That's why you kissed her."

"The kiss meant nothing," House insisted. He'd been telling himself that since he'd stepped into the elevator last night, that the amazing feeling of her lips on his didn't mean anything more than a quick little interlude in an otherwise boring night.

"That kiss meant something. To you and to her," Wilson declared like he was the guru of all things woman. "She was glowing after she came back downstairs."

House wanted to believe him. The truth was the kiss did mean something to him. Maybe he had premeditatedly found the mistletoe in hopes that he might see her and be able to try his corny high school move on her. He'd wanted to kiss her for a while. _Who wouldn't?_ Those lips were luscious and full with that seductive little pout. _Good God, she had sexy lips_. They were simply gorgeous and just begging to be kissed.

But, there _was_ more to it than just that. He was denying it, but it was there. He'd talked to Dr. Nolan about it and the therapist had encouraged him to explore those feelings. Much like everything else lately, he'd been exploring a little too much of his feelings for his comfort. However, these feelings… the ones he was denying he had about her, he was intensely interested in. It was difficult, though, because of the situation. Things were complicated in more than just the obvious ways. There was so much involved that he didn't even know where to really start.

"_Having… a nice… Christmas_?" Wilson said quietly as if where… _Oh shit, no!_

House turned around quickly to see his phone in his best friend's hand. "Give me my fucking phone!"

"Nope," he taunted.

"I will pull your lungs out through your ears," House dropped his half-pealed pear onto the butcher block and rounded the corner but Wilson trotted away. House trod slowly after him but he was away in the living room before he could reach him. "You better not fucking send that!"

"_Send_," he pushed the button and chuckled wiggling his phone in the air at him from across the room.

"You son of a bitch," House stalked at him. _God, he was going to kill him!_

"Oh, please, you needed me to do that," he laughed at him.

"No! I… I didn't…" House stammered and then sighed angrily though his nose. _Ok, so he did want him to do that but he wasn't going to admit it._

"I didn't do anything you didn't want to do yourself," Wilson defended himself. "I just had the balls enough to do it." Wilson tossed him his phone with a devious grin.

"Yeah, and everyone thinks I'm the one who manipulates the situations to my favor," House grumbled, eyeing him sharply. _Great, now what was he going to do?_

_I don't want anybody else, When I think about you, I touch myself…_

His phone chimed suddenly in his hand. Wilson looked at him and laughed hysterically. "_That_ is your ringtone for her? 'I touch myself'? Classy."

Shrugging, House rolled his eyes at him and turned around to look at the phone in his hand. His heart started to beat faster and he swallowed hard. She was actually responding.

"Are you going to read it?"

"Shut up, give me a second, will ya?"

Rolling his eyes at his own insecurity, he flipped the top open and pushed the button.

::My Christmas so far is nice and quiet. You?::

"Ask her if she's doing anything," Wilson prompted eagerly from the side of the couch.

"Ssh, I got it," he hushed him.

"She can't hear me via text," Wilson muttered before sitting back on the sofa to watch the basketball game.

::Same here. You have plans?:: He quick switched the ringer to vibrate so he wouldn't have to listen to further ridicule for his in appropriate choice of ringtone for her. _Damn, he was such an idiot._

::Wising for a blizzard to avoid going to my cousin's house. You?::

::Cooking Christmas dinner::

::Mmm. It's probably fabulous. What's for dinner?::

House felt a smile steal across his lips as he thought back to when she stood in Wilson's kitchen and tried his _embrionale stuffed with ragout_. She was squeamish at first but then shockingly surprised at how much she really enjoyed his cooking. The memory of that stroked his ego immensely.

::Why don't you come see for yourself?::

::Be there in 15::

::Perfect::

Closing his phone, House let out a disbelieving laugh. "Well…"

"What?" Wilson asked.

"She's coming over," House told him, mystified for a second. He couldn't believe he'd brazenly asked her and then she brazenly accepted.

"Well, that was easy," Wilson said with a little bit of his own disbelief.

"Yeah," House agreed. Shaking his head to clear it of his doubt and distrust of the situation, he went back into the kitchen to continue cooking.

Thirteen was coming to Christmas dinner. To spend time with him. Eagerly.

House hadn't felt this giddy on Christmas since he was eight.


	3. Chapter 3

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 3

House was nervous… No, he couldn't be. _Could he?_ God, he was fifty years old and he was anxious about a girl coming over to dinner. _What the hell?_ Well, maybe that was part of it, she was a _girl_. No, that wasn't totally true. She wasn't just a girl; she was woman he was completely attracted to, but she happened to be A LOT younger than him. She was smoking hot, fresh out of a relationship, his employee and oh yeah, she was dying. And he was insane. Literally and metaphorically. The two of them together was a bomb waiting to explode. But, he was ironically happier than a pig in shit. So when in shit, he figured he might as well roll in it and get filthy dirty.

Dinner was almost ready, the Lakers were still up by twenty-five or so, and she was true to her word. There was a knock at the door just slightly over fifteen minutes from her last text.

"You want me to get that?" Wilson asked, not really making a move to get up. He was just being courteous because knew that House would want to greet her for himself first.

"No. I got it," House waved him off, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel before placing it on his shoulder and limping to answer the door.

Taking a deep breath, House pulled the door open. She was standing there in their dim hallway looking radiant and lovely. Her rich brown hair cascaded in full waves over her cream colored coat. He recognized it as the same coat she wore the night she came back to take the job again. She was a vision that night standing at the door to his office with her secretive smile that always made her eyes dance with a twinkling light. Tonight, her face was just as bright and shimmery with a little bit of extra make-up to accent her already exquisite beauty. When she smiled at him, he felt his heart hammer against his ribs like a Flamenco dancer. She was brilliantly alive and he was inexorably trapped in her glow. God, this was going to be a mess of biblical proportions.

"You're late," he said to her, coming back to reality.

"By five minutes," she smirked back at him easily and then held up a bottle of wine. "I brought good cheer."

"Cheer is good," he replied and moved aside to let her enter.

She stepped into the foyer and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Her lips kind of missed his cheek and touched the corner of his mouth instead. She lingered for a moment and he could smell her perfume. It was warm and vanilla-y with a touch of spice, very, very her. "Merry Christmas," she said happily, her eyes meeting his for a long moment.

He smiled at her, the feel of her lips remained on his cheek and he wondered if maybe their _kiss_ had meant something to her, too. The way she was looking at him practically made him forget his name.

"Can I get your coat?" he asked remembering himself. He could hear Wilson hanging out somewhere in the background having risen from the sofa politely to greet her as she came in.

Smiling, she turned to allow him to help her out of her coat. God, when did he become such a gentleman? Vaguely, he thought that his mother would be so proud but then again she'd be thoroughly mortified at the thoughts running through his head once he got a good view of Thirteen's outfit. She was wearing a soft red sweater that draped openly around her neck and over her shoulders showing just enough of her creamy skin to make him want to bury his face in her neck and suck on her throat like a vampire. And never mind how the hem of the sweater skimmed the top of her tight little ass encased a pair of ridiculously hot jeans. She looked incredible, damn sexy and completely kissable. _Damn, did she always look this good?_ _Did he really need an answer to that? Of course, she always looked this good._

"My God! This place is huge!" she exclaimed as she entered their new apartment fully. House watched her walk into the high ceilinged living room to greet Wilson, as he took her jacket and hung it in the hall closet.

"We're still in the process of moving as you can see," Wilson apologized waving his hands at the boxes of books stacked under the windows.

"It's amazing," she said taking it all in with her wide, perceptive eyes. "The molding and detail is beautiful." She looked around the place in appreciation and then leaned in to give his friend the same kiss on the cheek. House's heart fell. She was just being friendly when she had kissed him in greeting. There wasn't anything behind it; she had just missed his full cheek because she had undershot her target. Maybe their kiss under the mistletoe was just one of their typical games and she hadn't been affected, after all… Well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd misinterpreted a kiss._ Get a hold of yourself, asshole_. This was just dinner on a holiday… with friends, nothing more. _No big deal, right_? _Ha, yeah right._

Taking the wine into the kitchen, he uncorked the bottle pouring two glasses, one for her and one for Wilson.

"None for you?" she asked curiously taking the goblet from him as she came behind the center island in their new kitchen.

"SSRIs," he said with a frown and she nodded knowingly. "I'll have a little with dinner." That was one of the bummers about taking mood elevators, giving up the drinking. He missed his bourbon at night. Now that he had his piano back, he could play at night again but the drinking part of the habit was taking a bit to get used to.

She made no comment about his abstaining, either way. Instead, she sipped her wine and came along side him by the stove and sniffed at the delicious aromas coming from his cooking.

"Mmm, it's smells incredible," she praised as she peered into his pots to see what was on the menu. She was so close to him her shoulder brushed against his arm and he could feel the soft cashmere of her sweater slip against the hair on his forearm. He was in his usual t-shirt and jeans. She was warm and fuzzy and entirely too distracting. And he still had stuff to prepare. He needed her away from him so he could think straight.

"Pasta's not even on yet," he told her shooing her away from the stove. "Go inside and sit, while I work my magic."

"I can't wait," she said, winking at him coyly. He stared back at her for a moment caught up in her mystery. _Damn, she was confusing_. Her body language was telling him all sorts of things, but his logic was telling him to ignore it. That despite how excited he felt when she was near him, nothing good could come from pursuing this.

"He's gets prickly if you're in the kitchen while he's working," Wilson said taking his wine glass.

"He gets prickly about a whole bunch of things," she quipped as she leaned on the other side of the counter. "I'm used to it." She arched an eyebrow at him but he shook his head.

Good Lord there were so many ways he could go with the 'prickly" barb but he bit his tongue, literally to keep from being rude.

Wilson laughed. "He's trying really hard not to make a comment about poking you with his thorn."

"Hey, you have no idea how hard it is for me not to be an asshole," House shrugged. She laughed at him.

"More homework?" she asked with a saucy grin.

"Yeah, something like that," he replied.

"So, what brings you to come spend Christmas here with the two of us?" Wilson inquired. "Don't you have plans with family?

"My cousin has four kids, all under the age of seven," she explained. "It's barely controlled chaos. It gives me heartburn just thinking about it."

Wilson laughed, "I don't know what's worse. Dinner with four kids or the two of us?"

"I think dinner with you two ranks much easier on the digestion," she chuckled.

"At least we don't exemplify the argument for enforced birth control," House muttered.

"That depends about which one of us you're talking about," Wilson added.

"Yes, what the world need is more touchy feely, oncologists to hold your hand while you're dying," House tossed at him.

"I don't know," Thirteen added. "It seems to me the whole world could stand to be a little more caring."

"Spoken like a true bleeding heart." House rolled his eyes and she laughed at him. Giving Wilson a smile, she picked at some of the Parmesan cheese House had left out and sipped her wine.

While House cooked the pasta and prepared the salad, he listened to her talk with Wilson. Her voice was musical and her laughter was infectious. He was beginning to relax a little about having her in his domain. Wilson had exchanged the basketball game for some jazz on the stereo and poured more wine. While they talked, Thirteen helped Wilson set the table as House put the finishing touches on dinner.

When they were finally at the table, House found himself eagerly wondering how she would like the food. Surprisingly, he discovered he really wanted to please her. She had already called him an amazing cook once before, but a little part of him wanted to hear it again, especially now.

"Should we say something before we start eating?" Wilson suggested looking at him expectantly.

"Why?" House questioned.

"Well, it is Christmas," Wilson scoffed.

"And you're a Jew, according to you Jesus wasn't even real," House retorted.

Wilson blinked at him and then looked at him pointedly. "Well, I would think after the year we've all had we could stand be a little grateful for making it through to see another one."

House slid his eyes to hers and she looked back at him eagerly. Giving in, he rolled his eyes and took hold of both her hand and Wilson's. A little flutter worked its way out from his belly at the warmth of her touch. Her delicate fingers in his somehow felt right and that was a little disconcerting. They said a silent grace for a moment. His inner adolescent rambled in his head, '_Rubba dub, dub, two guys and hot chick in a tub. Thanks for giving my mind back, now lets eat some grub'…_

Holding back his grin, he cleared his throat and waited patiently for his companions to finish being thankful. Curiously, he watched her sit beautifully with her head bowed in self-contemplation. Her thick eyelashes rose as she opened her eyes giving him a guarded smile and a gentle squeeze of the fingers. She looked sad for a moment but then it was quickly replaced with a bright smile as whatever was on her mind was put neatly back away behind her protective wall.

House dished her out a plateful of pasta and garnished it with the thick Bolognese. He watched her closely as she placed a forkful of pasta into her mouth. Swallowing enough to be able to speak, she said, "My god! This is delicious. I might have actually died and gone to pasta heaven."

House's pride soared. She was in ecstasy over his food. Eating was supposed to be an erotic experience and she couldn't have made that statement more true at this very moment.

"Be careful," Wilson advised. "I've gained five pounds since he started cooking dinner."

"Yeah but it's five pounds in his ass," House joked putting on his gayboy lisp, "It just goes straight to his hips."

"You're lucky it's only five pounds," she said with a laugh. "I'd be 500 pounds if you cooked like this for me all the time."

House chuckled and took a sip of his wine. "I like a girl with a healthy appetite." _God, did he real just say that?_ He was such an idiot. It had been way too long since he actually had to flirt for real with a woman.

"So how is this whole Odd Couple thing working out for you two?" she asked changing the direction of the conversation. "I can already guess who's Felix and who's Oscar."

"Oh, he's Oscar alright," Wilson complained. "He's neat in general but between leaving the toilet seat up and constant disregard for my personal belongings…"

"Please, if you didn't sit down and pee like a girl it wouldn't matter," House tossed at him carrying on their age-old debate.

"House!" Wilson barked in embarrassment. "Was that necessary?"

"And _why_ do you even know that?" Thirteen waved her hand at them and shook her head, changing her mind. "Actually, TMI… forget I asked."

"Twenty years of friendship," House shrugged, answering her anyway. "We've shared lots of things."

"I shared lots of things with my college roommate, but bathroom habits was not one of them," she said.

"Ooo, sounds interesting. Pillow fights in naughty jammies?" House extrapolated. "Do tell."

"Sorry, you need to earn the secret pass before you get those stories," she flipped back at him giving him a little smirk.

House was enjoying their banter. She seemed flirty with him, but that could be the two glasses of wine she'd had already. She chatted easily with both of them; he'd actually never heard her talk so much. With Wilson, she friendly and open. With him, she was coy and mysterious. But she wasn't giving his friend the same kind of lingering glances she was giving him. Some of her looks made his palms actually sweat. Damn, he was so confused. She had his radar twisted six ways from Sunday.

Diner easily transitioned into dessert. They chatted and laughed some more. House vaguely thought about the outcome of the Lakers' game since he did actually have some money riding on it, but in all reality he didn't really care. He was having a great time.

"God, I'm so full, you're going to have to roll me out of here," Thirteen announced as she insisted on helping them clean up.

Wilson brought the rest of the plates into the kitchen and placed the dishes into the sink. "Amazing as usual," he praised. "I'm slipping into a food coma as we speak."

"Umm, could you direct me to the little girls room?" she asked shyly. House pointed to the small powder room off the back of the kitchen.

As soon as she disappeared behind the door, Wilson turned to him. "Don't fuck this up. She is definitely into you."

House narrowed his eyes uncertainly and ran his hand distractedly over the back of his head. "You think?"

"Uh, between all the eye fucking going on between you two… I feel like either I should bring the chocolate sauce and whipped cream and join in or, I should get the hell out of here and give you two some privacy."

"Privacy might be good," House said quickly as she came back into the kitchen, looking refreshed and bright.

Wilson eyed him and then yawned exaggeratedly. He stretched his arms out wide, giving House a sly wink. "Wow, I'm bushed. Going to head to bed. Leave the dishes. I'll do them in the morning."

House nodded his head, hiding his smirk. "Sounds like a plan to me." He waited for the door to click shut on Wilson's room before he poured more wine into Thirteen's glass.

She smiled at him taking the glass. "I do have to drive home sometime tonight."

"Not right away," he told her. "There's no rush. It's Christmas."

House was feeling infinitely more comfortable since dinner. He was able to relax and laugh with her as they had talked. All through dinner, he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her again. It was all he could to keep from watching her mouth with every word she spoke. Now that Wilson was gone, he finally had a chance.

She placed her wineglass on the counter behind her freeing her hands. Lifting her chin to him she almost dared him to make the first move. The smile on her face said that she had been thinking the same thing he was. Accepting her challenge, he slowly stepped forward into her space taking her hands and threading his fingers through hers. Her skin was warm and smooth as he ran his thumbs along the contours of her palms. Her smile grew as his confidence did and he was spurred on to gently tug her closer to him.

Letting go of one of her hands, he trailed his fingers up the softness of her arm to brush her long hair back from her shoulder. He rested his hand at the base of her head feeling the delicate lines of her neck beneath his fingers. She was lean and lithe like sculpted porcelain. He looked into her steel gray eyes intently trying to discern something more about her. Some clue, some tiny indication that she wanted more from him than just a quick sexual tryst. He wasn't really sure he could handle anything less than that at this point in the game. He needed more, some kind of deep connection. They had always been bound together by some inexplicable link and he was curious to explore that.

She was so beautiful as she stared back at him, open and waiting, as if she had somehow read his mind. He brushed his thumb idly against the fullness of her lower lip and watched the pupils in her eyes begin to take over as her desire grew for him. He was testing her, they both knew it. He needed to know she was serious about being with him.

Her impatience with his teasing had taken over and it was she who made the first move. Her body was elegance personified as she melted into him closing the small distance between them. She touched her lips softly to his, kissing him slowly and seductively. Her lips were full and ripe under his as she parted his mouth with the gentle insistence of her tongue. She deepened the kiss dipping her tongue in to mingle with his sensuously as if she were made to kiss him. Kissing had always been a nice experience but her velvet smoothness brought it to a whole new level. She was magical and alluring and he could feel himself being lost in her charm with every passing stroke of her tongue.

The seconds turned into minutes as they explored each other in a gentle pursuit of hands over clothing and skin. He touched her hair, the delicate sweep of her jaw, the side of her neck while her hands roamed over his arms and back. He wanted to touch more, but didn't want to push further than either of them were ready to go. They were, after all, boss and employee among the numerous other reasons they shouldn't be together.

House broke their kiss first, needing to pause for some clarity. Looking into her face all it did was confuse him further. Her eyes were half closed in desire and a slow smile stole over her lips enticing him to go further. She was so amazing that he could easily lose himself in her and for as much as he wanted to, tonight might not be the night to do that. This was all so new for them.

Resting his hand on her shoulder, he put a few inches of space between them. She nearly undid his resolve however, when she pouted her full lips at him, swollen and red from his kisses. Sighing, he shifted his weight more toward his left side. "I could stand here and kiss you all night, but my leg wouldn't agree for very long," he told her.

He hated using his leg as an excuse but it was the truth. His pain was manageable now and she was definitely a distraction from it, but before long, even she wouldn't be able quell the raging ache inside his thigh.

"Come on, Santa brought me a PS3 for Christmas," he said pulling her toward the sofa as a diversion from wanting to drag her down the short hall to his room.

She chuckled merrily and followed without any protest. "Santa brought me these fabulous Italian Leather boots."

He looked down at her feet for the first time that evening. She had on black pointy-toed stiletto heeled boots under her jeans. "Sexy," he mentioned. "Didn't know Santa was into stripper boots?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Santa may not be, but I bechya I know who is?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "This guy!"

She giggled at him and kicked her off boots as he turned on the game console and came to sit on the Oriental rug with his back against the sofa. She came over to him and stepped into the V of his thighs, sitting down on the floor in between his legs. He was surprised by her boldness but soon got over it as she sat down and positioned herself against him. The aroma of her perfume circled around him lulling him into a cinnamon vanilla haze and he decided that he could quickly get used to playing video games like this.

"So what are we playing?" she asked settling into the space between his arms.

"Um…" He wasn't even sure he remembered what his name was. _What game was it? Oh yeah_… "Uncharted 2. It's like Tomb Raider. Shooting and puzzles."

"Show me how to shoot," she insisted taking the controller from his hands. He gave her a brief tutorial on the finer points of weaponry for the game and she was off to battle in a flash. She was fierce as she played, focused and competitive. It was surprisingly hot.

He watched her play intensely for quite a while before becoming preoccupied by the soft curve of her neck just inches away from his face. He was enticed by the two little freckles on her neck calling out his name.

He smoothed her hair down behind her back, exposing the creamy white skin beneath her ear. She was so focused on blowing up the compound that she ignored him. So, House decided he would focus intently on infiltrating _her_ defenses. He touched his nose to the soft spot behind her ear and inhaled her scent fully into his lungs. She smelled like a sweet confection, sugary and seductive. She chuckled slightly under his touch, continuing to shoot at her enemy snipers gunning her down from across the alleyway. Since she was ignoring him he decided to delve further. Running his lips down the smooth column of her neck, he placed tiny kisses in his path. She gasped as he followed up with his tongue along the same path, groaning a little bit as she tried to concentrate. When he dragged his teeth across the ridge of her collarbone, she fell from the precipice she was hanging from.

"You killed me," she complained halfheartedly.

"Sorry," he apologized unenthusiastically placing more kisses along her shoulder. "Carry on."

She giggled and reset her player. "You're very distracting, you know?"

"What can I say? I really like this sweater," he said grinning his lips against her skin.

"I'll remember that," she joked as she tried to traverse the gorge into the temple. She hopped from ledge to ledge as he continued his pursuit of her neck. Lifting his eyes to the screen for a second, he inhaled a quick breath as if she were really hanging from her fingertips over a fifty-foot drop. Somehow she maneuvered onto another piece of ruins and made it to a flat platform safely despite his best efforts to sidetrack her. "You're impressed. I know."

"I am," he admitted placing a kiss on her cheek, holding her tighter to him.

"I've got mad skills and it's hot. You can admit it," she teased.

He chuckled into her hair. "It is."

"Mhm," she murmured settling further into his embrace.

Unable to keep his lips from her anymore, he turned her head, tipping her backward in the cradle of his arm. He kissed her again, this time with an urgency that could attest to the desire pooling deep in his core from her nearness. She abandoned her game, dropping the controller to the floor so she could bring her hand to touch his face. Kissing him back without inhibition, she was completely at ease with their newfound intimacy. She was so pliable to his touch and he no longer doubted how she felt about being with him. He wanted her so badly he could taste it. She scared the hell out of him, but at the same time he hadn't felt this alive and grounded in a very long time.

Ending the kiss, she sat up in his arms and their eyes met for a long intense moment. Three years of dancing around each other came to this one defining moment. She opened her mouth to speak, her unspoken words dangling on her lips making him uneasy. House's pulse hammered in his chest as he waited. Would she stay here with him and let him make love to her or would she go, leaving him aching with need for her? The choice was hers. At that moment, she was in control and held the key to his sanity in her hands.

_

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A/N: It's like a Christmas choose your own adventure… let me know where you think this should go. Does she stay or does she go?_

_Blame my little friend Vanamo for the cliffhanger! It was her idea._


	4. Chapter 4

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 4

_A/N: Ask and ye shall receive… I channeled Damien Rice's "Delicate" and "Grey Room", to of my absolute favorites, throughout the two days it took to write this. If I were the producer, you'd know exactly where the song would start! God, I'm loving this story. There's so much depth to be explored. Thanks to all who have favorited and alerted and reviewed. You make me smile. Enjoy!_

* * *

Remy took a breath and paused. Her hands shook and her body trembled with unleashed desire. Her head was spinning. _How could it not be?_ The wine, the food, his kisses, his touch, his smell.... everything around her was making her lose focus, fast and furiously. She was coming apart at the seams and he was tugging ever so slightly on the thread.

The way House was looking at her right now, she was a complete goner. Every rational thought in her being had flown straight into the fire and burned up into a puff of smoke. She had intended to keep this casual, to see where this was headed. _Honestly, who was she kidding_? She was hopeless the minute he texted her to come over. Nothing with him was small. Everything had such subtext and depth to it that the gravity of everything around him trapped her there caught on a precipice of indecision. Stay and be lost to him or, go and lose whatever chance might have been. Because walking away from him now would have meant that she rejected him, despite any kind of promises to explore at a slower pace. She knew he couldn't handle that kind of denial, even in the tiniest of incarnations.

She wanted him so badly that she thought she might die if he didn't ask her to stay. He had her so wanton, so worked up that her body tingled with every exhalation he breathed across her skin. He was uncertain though, like he was afraid. She didn't know quite what to make of this side of him. She was used to seeing him so confident and sure of himself to the point of arrogance. Now, in the darkness of the living room, lit only by the firelight and the back glow of the kitchen counter lights behind them, his eyes were so serious, so guarded and tentative. He was allowing her to see his vulnerability and that squeezed at her heart. He wanted her equally but didn't know how to cross that threshold. She realized then, that she was the one in control. She was the one to have to make the first move.

Knowing that she couldn't walk away from him, not now, not really ever, Remy took his face in her hands and kissed him softly. He let out a sigh that shuddered though him. Pulling back from him, she looked into his eyes. Her logic told her that they should wait, that becoming intimate this soon was a dangerous proposition. But, her heart and her body were telling her that she would be a fool to walk away now.

"Tell me what you want," she whispered to him.

He looked back at her, desire and passion clouding his eyes. "I want you to stay."

She breathed a sigh. "Me too…"

"But?" He had heard the question in her voice.

Remy's pulse raced in her ears. She needed to be certain this was more than just sex. They could have done that a long time ago. Now, it was more. It had to be more. "If we do this, " she began carefully, touching the side of his brow with her knuckles. "I need pure honesty from you, no more deflections."

He nodded at her in accord, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. "No more deflections."

"I don't have time for stupid games anymore," she told him. "We both know that."

"Don't say that," he urged her sadly. "You still have a lot of time."

"I know, but I don't want to waste any second of it," she spoke honestly. "I've done that already. I want something real."

"I've burned up more time that I care to admit," he said quietly and then brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, giving her a little smile. "I'm tired of being alone."

"This will be so complicated," she tried to protest, hoping that maybe his rational side would win out but, seriously wanting it not to.

"Nothing is ever simple," he told her and placed a kiss on her lips. "Not with me, anyway."

She chuckled against the fringe of his mustache as it tickled her when he smiled at his own self-deprecation. He was so sexy, so manly and so boyishly shy at the same time. He was a conundrum to be sure, but he drew her too him with his magnetism and his inherent charisma. His lips trailed a path of fire down to the hollow of her throat and that last tether that was keeping her together slipped free.

"Tell me what you want," he urged her against her skin, repeating her own words to her.

Her fingers plunged into the short softness of his hair and she gasped as his hands slid under the hem of her sweater to splay across her back. "I want you to make love to me. Right here, right now."

When he looked at her, his eyes were full of yearning, deep dark azure, burning a hole into her like a laser beam. "We should probably move this into the bedroom, unless you want to give Wilson a show. He usually comes out for cookies around now."

_Nice_. Even in the heat of desire, he couldn't stop making jokes. She laughed, hugging him to her, making him chuckle against her neck. _No, nothing with him was ever simple_.

Smiling, she rose from the floor and held out her hand to him. He took it, lacing his fingers in hers without hesitation and allowed her to help him up to standing. Her hand still in his, he limped heavily to the door of his room just off the living room, leading her into his private domain. He closed the door quietly behind them, the soft click, echoing in the darkness of the space. Her eyes had barely adjusted to the dim moonlight coming through the windows when he took her into his arms and kissed her sweetly on the lips. His touch was tender and delicate. He brought his lips to her eyelids, then to her cheeks and the corner of her jaw before coming back to her mouth. His reverence for her was touching and made her heart swell with feelings for him she never thought she was capable of experiencing.

Taking his time, he kissed deeply, seductively, slowly moving them backwards until her legs touched the edge of his bed. God, she could spend the rest of her life in his arms just kissing him; he was so, so good at it. Drawing her in with his touch, his hands circled around her waist and ran smoothly up the sides of her ribcage taking her sweater with it, removing it over her head. He gave her a tiny smile when he realized for the first time she didn't have a bra on. She arched an eyebrow toying with him without words like she had always been able to do. His grin of appreciation spread wider as he understood she had done that with the intention of turning him on.

Remy kept her eyes trained on his as she slipped her fingers under the edge of his shirt teasing his stomach with her fingertips. Running her hands up the length of his chest, she savored the feel of his skin and the light smattering of course hair against her palms as she pushed his shirt up with her forearms. He helped her take it the rest of the way off as soon as she couldn't reach over his head. He was so tall, his arms so long. She hadn't realized just how much until she was standing in her bare feet next to him in his personal space. His heat now radiating from him encircled her in his warmth. She pressed her lips to where his heart beat a rapid staccato rhythm under his sternum. His skin had the musky essence of man and his downy hair tickled her nose, teasing her senses. She savored the feel of him for a moment before his hands began to move over her body, caressing and memorizing every detail as he pushed her back gently down to the mattress. He came to lie beside her, trailing his finger tip along the dip of her collarbone. He kissed her again, languidly tasting her as if he had all the time in the world. She was shaking with need for him and he hadn't done anything more than run his tongue over hers yet.

Slowly, worshipfully, he followed an invisible trail between the valley of her breasts with his lips. She cradled his head in her hands hoping to relay the urgency of her desire for him but he took his time, tasting, smelling, caressing. She nearly catapulted off the bed when he took one taut nipple into his mouth and circled his tongue around it. He moved carefully to the other one to show it equal affection. God, she used to hate when guys would touch her nipples. They were so sensitive it was like a direct conduit to her core. But, when he touched them, oh god it was like ecstasy.

She turned her head and moaned against the backs of her fingers as he teased her with his tongue. Her sigh of pleasure must have amused him, because he chuckled slightly as he kneeled above her and unbuttoned her jeans. She shifted her hips to aid him in removing the rest of her clothing. Her panties came along caught in the scrape of denim as they passed the curve of her hipbone. She had chosen the black lace confection tonight for him especially with the brief hope in mind that they'd be in this exact position, since he was such a fan of the thong. But it didn't really matter, he seemed to be more interested in getting her out of them than seeing her in them. Tossing her jeans somewhere off to the side, he brought his focus back to her. His eyes drank her in as he took in the view of her naked body in the moonlight. He smiled softly in appreciation as his hands began to follow the path of his eyes, exciting her skin, leaving an electrified trail of gooseflesh in his wake.

Spreading her legs and positioning himself in between, he smoothly caressed the curve of her hip, down her thigh to the back of her knee. His eyes took on a serious air when he brought her leg up over his shoulder to place a kiss at her ankle and then trailed his lips down the contour of her calf. He worshiped her as if she were a goddess, his touch both loving and seductive. She writhed under him as he reached the top of her calf and nipped at the back of her knee. Good Lord, she had no idea how erotic the backs of her knees were. Every touch was like she was feeling for the very first time. He was making her crazy with the ache to have him closer to her. He continued his pursuit along the inside of her thigh. Every inch higher, her breath came out in pants as his beard tickled gently against her skin. She needed him, wanted him.

Sensing her desire coming to a boil, his fingers parted the soft curls between her thighs. She gasped in pleasure when he slid a finger in moistening himself on her juices. One long finger stroked her smoothly, feeling her deep inside while the pad of his thumb circled over her bud bringing her passion to new heights. His fingers were like magic, deft and elegant as he rubbed her to a quivering mass of unsated craving. She was so close to the edge, it was difficult to hold back her cries of pleasure. When he replaced his thumb with the silky smoothness of his tongue, she screamed out into the silence of the room and clutched at the covers beneath her. His velvet tongue, the one that could be as sharp as a dagger, swept over her in an exquisite massage. He fondled her sweetly taking her right to the edge and pushing her over the cliff into a breathtaking explosion. Her body floated in and out of the ether as her orgasm coursed through her core.

When her pulsing subsided, he placed gentle kisses along her inner thighs and her stomach, resting his cheek against her abdomen nuzzling her contentedly. She ran her hand over his head feeling the softness of his hair, the silver sparkling in the moonlight, as her breathing returned to normal. She took another few seconds to come back down to reality just losing herself in his eyes. He was amazing, this man with her now in the solitude of their love making cocoon. He was so different, so compassionate and empathetic. He was sensitive and affectionate and she, wondered after all these years, how she couldn't have seen this in him before.

Sitting up, she inched closer to him. He rolled onto his back taking her with him laying her on top of his chest and holding her for a moment. He kissed the top of her head tenderly and sighed. She lifted her head to look into his face concerned about what he was feeling. His face was passive, relaxed and content, but he seemed unsettled. She kissed him gently, running her fingers along the ridge of his dark eyebrows. They were somehow like a direct mirror to his soul. He smiled at her and brushed her hair back from her shoulder, just looking into her eyes. He was completely open to her emotionally right now and that made her feel more special than anything he could have said to her at the moment.

Reaching down, she slid her hand over his hardness beneath his jeans. She still wanted to feel him inside of her, wanted to connect with him on a deeper level than they already had. He urged her off of him to give him the freedom to undo the zipper of his jeans. Pushing his jeans down, he left his boxers on for a moment and rolled onto his side and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her palm and then placed it on the surface of his thigh. She could feel the damaged muscle underneath and the contrast of the jagged shinny scar against the course hair on his skin. It was shocking and she felt her breath freeze in her lungs.

"The infarction took most of the Rectus Femoris and Vastus Intermedius, and a little bit of the Lateralis," he told her quietly, using their medical terms to disconnect from the gravity of it.

She swallowed hard, knowing exactly which muscles he was talking about. In all of her training, she had never heard of such damage. She was amazed he could walk at all. It was no wonder he struggled with such pain. He was essentially an amputee. Taking this strange opportunity, she ran her fingers down the smooth chasm of his scar. He was sharing the most intimate part of himself with her. The part he never spoke about, the part that made him the most vulnerable. He was wide open now, his soft underbelly exposed to her. He trusted her. He was giving her that pure truth she had wanted from him and it warmed her heart more than he could know.

"Are you in pain now?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. I've got distractions."

Smiling at him when he grinned at her, she leaned over and dipped her tongue in for a slow, sensuous kiss. "Let's make it a really big distraction and practice some of that human connection homework."

"I'm not exactly sure that was the kind of human connection he was talking about," House said with a chuckle. "But, I'm thinking 'yes'. We are definitely not done yet."

Taking his amusement as a green light to continue, Remy dragged her fingers down the plane of his torso, glad to have the awkwardness associated with his disability out of the way. She smoothed her palms over his chest feeling the soft flat circles of his nipples as she gently raked her way down to the waistband of his boxers. He laid back against the covers on his bed and let her take off his underwear giving her full control over the speed and pace. He had lost a little bit of his fervor in his emotional vulnerability and she had to remember that he wasn't a spry as someone her age, and not on SSRIs, would be. Hovering over him she let her hair hang over his stomach, tickling him with the ends. She swayed to and fro, sweeping him in long strokes teasing the tip of him as she moved downward.

He let out a little groan of pleasure and laughed. "Hair, huh?"

"I'm nothing if not resourceful," she replied looking up at him with a smile.

"I _have_ always liked your hair," he said picking up a piece between his fingers and looking at it.

Giggling, she bent lower and took the length of him into her hand. His grit his teeth at her touch and let out a sigh as she began to work him back to fullness. It didn't take long for him to become engorged by her touch. Slowly she worked her tongue up the length of his shaft causing him to moan out loud. He plunged his hands into her hair gently grabbing fistfuls as she took him fully into her mouth. It pleased her to no end to know that she had made him moan. He was always so in control but now the roles were reversed. She suckled him slowly, seductively exacting sweet torturous revenge on him for taking his time with her. When his breathing started to turn to breathless moans, he tapped her lightly on the head to get her to pause in her pursuit of him. He was unable to speak clearly and she had finally found the key to getting him to actually shut up.

Sitting up, he leaned his back against the headboard and encircled her hips gently in his hands to guide her over top of him. His fingers came up to caress her cheek and neck, feeling her, grounding himself to her as she positioned herself over him. She rested her hands on his shoulders feeling the ridge of his collarbone and corded muscles beneath her palms. He was so supremely male that he excited her like no other before. Everything they had shared was a preamble to this very moment. All of their interactions, their teasing, their bitter fighting, and their lost souls, came down to this one beautiful moment in time.

She bent her head to kiss him. Their tongues mingled together as she rocked her hips against him wetting him with her moistness. Her eyes locked on his, binding herself to their cerulean haze as she took him into her little by little. He breathed a deep exhale of pleasure and splayed his hands against her back pulling her close to him, kissing her mouth, her neck, down to her collarbone. He was amazing as he filled her deeply, breathing her into him, possessing her body and soul.

She moved over him slowly taking him in and out of her. The rhythm of their breathing came to a tempo of shared sighs and moans, their love making passionate and tender. His hands roamed, touching her, kneading her, urging her, setting a pace of delicate, tenuous need. They were unified, bound, finally joined in the pain of their past and the possibility of what was to come. When they tumbled together into the ecstasy of their release, he held her to him tightly as if she might dematerialize into thin air leaving him lost and alone. His connection to her was poignant and profound. Her link to him was equally as so. Nothing would ever be the same between them now and she wasn't sure if she even cared. She was his now. His alone.

Wilson had been wrong about her. She had been sucked into House's vortex, but she was standing in the eye of it now, unscathed and completely loved by him. Only time would tell if they would be able to maintain this euphoria of understanding. Only time would tell if they would survive each other.


	5. Chapter 5

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 5

Bright crisp sunlight beamed through the curtains illuminating House's bedroom in the glow of early morning. With a sigh, he began to wake up from a sweet, sweet dream. Cracking an eye open, he glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was a little after nine in the morning. Normally he would have closed his eyes and rolled over going back to sleep but this morning, he was inspired to open his eyes to the bright sunlight and see if last night had indeed really transpired. It had all felt so unreal… a hallucination of epic proportions. And he knew, all too well, what that felt like. The disappointment this time would have been too much to bear.

But, to his relief, he felt her breath pass over his neck in a soft, smooth rhythm as she slept tucked up against his side. Her leg was draped over his and her small, thin hand was resting on his chest right over his heart. He covered her hand with his and pressed it to his heartbeat enjoying the feel of the delicate shape of her fingers on his skin. She was real; flesh and blood, warm and alluring. Stirring a little, she nuzzled closer to him and he wrapped his arm tighter around her placing a kiss on her brow. It was a strange feeling but he was completely content.

None of this was intended. He hadn't meant to engage in an affair with her. She was his employee and had only just recently come back after his long ordeal of trying to convince her she couldn't live without this job. Things would be complicated for them now. He was demanding and unyielding, even now after his bout in the mental hospital. However, she had always been the one to bear it exceptionally well, but he had never worked with someone he had feelings for. He wasn't sure how that was going to work for him.

But there was something much bigger than the logistics of how to operate at work while being lovers. She was Foreman's ex. In his former version of himself, he wouldn't have given a rat's ass about that. But now… somewhere in the back of his mind he felt a little guilty about that. He knew how much Foreman had felt about her. He had practically sacrificed his entire career for her. Knowing what House knew now, he didn't blame the guy. She had the capability to melt even the hardest of hearts. Foreman was going to have a problem; that was a definite. Especially if this became more than just sex.

The things she had said to him last night about pure truth and wanting something real concerned him. Those concepts were a struggle for him. Everyday. He had made marginal success in that area and he supposed that maybe she saw enough of a change to want to take a chance on him. His ultimate fear was the he would disappoint her. He wasn't good with honesty and emotions. But he was trying. He had lived in denial of his own feelings for so long that he forgot how to actually communicate them. Now that he was off the drugs and alcohol, he was clearer about things. He was learning how to cope, how to be honest and open with others, especially those closest to him. She seemed to understand that. But it didn't change the fact that the things that were emerging between them were so intense, so powerful that it could quickly turn toward something combustible and ultimately painful in the blink of an eye. Because despite his denial of her impending death, she was on limited time. He didn't want to waste what little time she had left and leave her with a broken heart. She deserved more than that.

Lost in his train of thought, he drew tiny circles with his fingertip on the silky curve of her shoulder. He looked at her eyes softly closed, her full lips slightly parted as she slept. She was so incredibly beautiful and he was in a little bit of amazement that she was attracted to him. He was old and used up and she was so young and radiant. It was a little like Beauty and the Beast and for some reason that amused him. He was never into fairy tales because they were the antithesis of real life, but god did he wish that maybe there was some sort of truth to them, at least in reflection to their situation. Maybe her affection would work its magic and turn him into a real man before the last petal fell.

Beginning to feel the tug of his thigh and the call of nature, he slowly peeled himself away from her embrace careful not to wake her. She was sleeping so peacefully he figured he'd leave her there for a little while longer. His feet touched the floor and he paused at the edge of his bed for a minute to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He hated mornings but today was completely different. He felt good for a change. Suddenly, he felt a pinch to his butt cheek and he almost jerked himself off the bed in reaction.

She giggled behind him. "I see your hiney."

He laughed and leaned back over to brush his hand over the sweep of her waist under his covers. Smiling into her sleepy eyes, he kissed her gently. "Morning."

"Morning," she smiled back at him touching her hand to his neck.

"Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "Very well. I may never get out of this bed."

"That's fine," he told her with a grin. "I'll bring you food and water every couple of hours."

"And the remote for the TV?" she added with a chuckle.

He leaned in closer and touched his lips to her nose. "Any thing else, your Highness?"

"Just you and your cute little hiney," she teased.

"That can be arranged," he told her and then placed another quick kiss on her lips. He felt a shy smile creep over his face as he laughed self-consciously. They had seen every inch of each other last night, but in the light of day things were always so remarkably different. "You hungry?"

"Starving," she replied.

He patted her hip and sat up. "Stay, sleep a little more and I'll bring you breakfast in bed."

"Really?" she smiled suspiciously at him. "Who are you?"

"Just shut up and go with it, okay?" he snarked with a laugh. She clamped her mouth shut and settled back into the pillows as she mimicked 'throwing away the key'. Shaking his head, he got out of bed and found a pair of jammie pants and a t-shirt to put on. He closed her in the room and after making a pit stop on the way, he traipsed into the kitchen. Wilson was on a stool having coffee at the counter while he read the paper.

"Coffee's in the carafe," Wilson informed him, acknowledging his presence without looking up from his reading.

House nodded, scratching his head as he went into the refrigerator to retrieve the eggs, some spinach, the butter and a lemon. Arms full, he limped heavily over to the counter and deposited his supplies.

"Eggs Florentine?" Wilson's eyes perked up.

"Not for you," House said, as he began his ministrations, ignoring the gaping look of amazement coming from Wilson.

"You and she? Last night? Really?" He gawked at him open mouthed for a second. "She's still here?"

"Yes, yes, yes, and yes." He washed the spinach and put it in the colander to drain. "And that was to answer your four questions, not because… of, you know, any kind of… description."

Suddenly he was feeling a little protective. Normally, he'd be bragging like a randy teenager. Damn, psychotherapy.

Wilson ran his hand over his mouth and smirk underneath. "I had no idea."

"You didn't hear anything?"

"Nah, nothing. Slept like a baby," Wilson replied and then twisted his head to the side thinking about that for a second before nodding appreciatively. "That's good to know."

"Yes, now you can parade your harem of nurses through the front door," House quipped. "Happy to road test it for you."

"So, she makes a lot of noise?" Wilson boldly asked.

House growled at him. "I'm not telling you that!"

"I mean, I wouldn't be surprised," Wilson continued sipping his coffee.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" House shot at him angrily.

"Nothing. She's a minx that's all. And, you asked me if I heard anything," Wilson defended himself. "You're not the only one who can use deductive reasoning, you know."

"Whatever," House grumbled, as he turned to sauté the fresh spinach in the butter.

"How many times?"

"Dude, I'm fifty and on Zoloft," House retorted. "I know I'm a stud but come on, I'm lucky I can get any party started anymore."

Wilson snorted a laugh and arched a dubious eyebrow at him. House held up two fingers at him before turning with a roguish smirk to toss the spinach so it wouldn't burn. Protective , but still a man, after all.

"Good for you," Wilson replied sincerely.

"Good for both of us." Taking the greens off the heat, he placed the frying pan onto a back burner. Looking around the counter space, he turned back to Wilson. "Where is my rosemary and basil focaccia bread?"

"Inside the bread box, I had some for breakfast," he told him. "So what now?"

House shrugged and took out the knife to slice the foccia in half and place the pieces into the toaster. "I don't know. We try, I guess."

"Wow, like a real relationship?" Wilson questioned with a touch of incredulity.

"Yeah, like a real relationship," House echoed. He shook his head. The words sounded odd, even to him, coming from his mouth. "I like her."

"I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, me too," House responded honestly.

"So does this mean you're going to be moving out in five days?" Wilson poked fun at him.

House gave a self-deprecating laugh. "No. I don't think Nolan would let me."

"It's crazy that you'd even want to yet!" Wilson laughed.

"Yeah, I don't think she even knows that about me," House chuckled.

"What, that you imprint on your sexual partners like a baby duck?"

"Hey, you do the same thing," House tossed back. "Need I remind you about Julie, Bonnie, Cancer Girl… oh yeah and Amber?"

"Stacey?"

"Five days turned into five years."

Wilson made a face. "Yeah until you resented her for cutting off your leg and pushed her out of your life like a pariah!"

The toast popped and House focused his attention on that for a minute, avoiding the whole topic of his failed relationship with the only woman he ever really loved.

"Have you talked about Stacey with Nolan?" Wilson asked carefully.

"A little," he shrugged. "It was all my fault. I blamed her. I shut her out. I couldn't forgive." House lifted his eyes to his friend. "Three months in a psyche ward and thousand of dollars in therapy and I can finally say that."

"Baby steps," Wilson acknowledged. That had been their mantra for the past few months. Little by little, one step at a time. It was trite and it was psychobabble jargon, but it worked nevertheless.

House cracked and separated four egg yolks into a double boiler and whisked them with some lemon and salt and pepper for the Hollandaise sauce before bringing them to the boiling water to temper the mixture.

Wilson peered over at his creation. "Hey, if I have sex with you, do I get eggs Florentine for breakfast, too?"

"Only if you can do the 'hungry unicorn'" House told him with a devious grin.

Wilson blinked at him. "What the fuck is that?"

House clucked his tongue and waved his finger at him. "Shame. No eggs Florentine for you then," he quipped.

Wilson waved his hand, rolling his eyes. "I don't think I even want to know."

"No, your virgin ears would bleed. Besides you already ate my focaccia bread," House complained.

Wilson snorted. "That was like an hour ago. I didn't know Thirteen was going to need it."

The last thing to do was poach the eggs. That taken care of, he assembled the plate and then pointed at Wilson. "Get me that tray from the closet."

"You're really bringing her breakfast in bed?"

"Yeah," he affirmed. "What the hell did you think I was doing?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Wilson went to the closet to retrieve the tray table. He placed it on the counter and then suddenly went in search of something else. Coming back with a crystal bud vase in his hand he placed it on the tray. "There."

House stared at him. "I'm going to bring her an empty vase?"

"Well," Wilson stuttered for a second. "It's not like we've got roses sitting around."

"Take it off," House ordered. "I'm not bringing her an empty vase."

An idea coming to him in a flash, Wilson put his fingers up in the air requesting a minute. "I know."

House impatiently watched him go to the hall closet and pull out his overcoat. When he returned, he plunked something into the vase and placed his hands on his hips in triumph. "A candy cane!"

"That's actually clever." Impressed, House nodded his head. "Now if you could pull some mistletoe out of your ass, I'd might actually let you have some eggs."

"One moment," Wilson said and bolted out to the balcony letting in a draft of frigid air from outside. He returned and placed a sprig of green into the vase with a flourish. "I give you, mistletoe."

"That's holly," House informed him. "You realize these berries are red?"

"Red, white, close enough," he dismissed. "It's the day after Christmas. Who cares?"

Shrugging, House looked at his little display and was pleased. She wasn't expecting any kind of fanfare for breakfast to begin with and the candy cane 'flower' would be a nice little surprise. He muttered a thanks to Wilson and then quickly poured her juice and a cup of coffee. His, he'd get later. Right now, it was all about impressing her.

He went to pick up the tray but Wilson halted him holding out his hand. "Wait. I'll take the coffee and juice. It's going to be enough just keeping that steady going over to the door."

Nodding, House accepted his assistance. They made their way to his bedroom door but House stopped giving him a look. "Step away from the door," he whispered harshly. "She's going to see you."

Carefully, Wilson placed the coffee cup and juice glass back onto the surface. "Have you thought about how you're going to open the door?" he whispered back.

Rolling his eyes, House nodded at the doorknob but then quickly covered the crack in the door with his back, backing into the room. Once he was clear, he kicked the door shut with his bad leg so as not to lose balance and then proceeded to traverse the distance to the bed.

Thirteen woke again from her nap and sat up, covering herself with the comforter. She tucked the blankets under her arms and stifled a yawn with the back of her hand before smiling at him as he made it to the bed. She looked more beautiful and sexy, just woken up, than he could have imagined. It took all of his self-control to place the food in front of her instead of on the floor so he could make love to her again in the crystal clear light of morning.

Whoa, yeah, he had imprinted, all right.

Just like a baby duck.

_Damn you, Wilson_.

"Aww, this is so beautiful," she cooed flicking her eyes back to him. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble for me."

He rested his weight on the bed and leaned on his elbow in front of her outstretched feet in the covers. "I had to feed Wilson, anyway," he deflected before catching himself.

Her eyes went wide and she wrinkled her nose in embarrassment. "He knows I'm still here?"

"Yeah," he said. "We live together. What can you do?"

She smiled at him, then. "It's ok. It's just a little weird."

"Weird would be if he was in here with us," he said grabbing her toes encased in the blanket.

She laughed and then picked up her fork. "Yeah. That would be really weird. I usually like my threesomes the other way around."

"I love you. Let's get married!" he proposed excitedly. _Holy shit! What the fuck was wrong with him._

Rolling her eyes, appropriately not believing him, she took a bite of her eggs. "I told you, you have to earn the free pass to be eligible for those stories." Eyes alight with amazement, she swallowed her mouthful and then brought her hands to her lips to keep any extras from falling out. "Oh my god! I love you, let's get married."

_Good, at least her sense of humor was right on track_. House laughed and then rolled off the bed to get her a sweatshirt. Finding one of his Michigan hoodies, he brought it to her. "Here, I can't eat when I know your perky little breasts are just right behind that blanket."

Moving the tray forward so as not to bump it, she pulled his oversized sweatshirt over her head. It was swimming on her and she looked completely adorable. "Isn't it worse knowing that I'm now commando under here?"

House groaned and actually had to bite his lip. There was something undoubtedly way more sexy about that. Tearing his eyes from her, pantless in his sweatshirt in his bed, he scanned the room for her clothing. "Where are your underwear?"

"In my jeans," she said around another bite. "They're not gonna help."

Finding her discarded pants that he had thrown across the room, he picked out the sexiest little excuse for a pair of underwear he might have ever seen. "These? It's like black lace dental floss. Unbelievably hot, but murder on the vagina." He looked at the scrap of lace in his palm and then held it up the ray of sunlight. "Don't these cause chaffing?"

"Just find me bottoms and come over here and eat with me," she ordered from her makeshift throne.

He went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of pj bottoms for her. "Put those on by the time I come back with coffee."

This time he took his cane and limped back out to the kitchen for some coffee and to clear his head. They were tossing around words like 'love and marriage' as if they were regular plain old nouns in a sentence instead of the million dollar ones that got people into crazy shit that lasted for five years. They were joking of course, but the words actually passed the threshold of their lips as if they said this to each other on an everyday basis. But goddamn if he didn't want to wake up with her like that day after day for the rest of his life.

_Fuck you Wilson and your duck imprint._

House poured himself some coffee and took a piece of the focaccia in between his teeth before hobbling back into his room. She was sitting cross-legged on top of the covers, with pants on now, eating the rest of her breakfast. "What are your plans for today?" he asked her as he sat on the bed next to her.

The turned her eyes to him and gave him a wane smile. "I already have something I was going to do."

His eyebrows drew together involuntarily at the change in her demeanor. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.

She took a sip of her coffee and then placed the cup back down on the tray. She breathed a sigh and House became concerned. It was obviously something she didn't want to tell him or something she was certain he didn't want to hear.

Regaining her cool resolve, she looked him straight in the eye and said, "I'm going to visit Kutner's grave."

House was stunned into silence for a second. That was not what he expected to hear. At all. "He was Hindu. All Hindus are cremated and their ashes strewn in a river. He doesn't have a grave."

She leveled her eyes at him. "He does have a grave. He was cremated and his ashes were buried."

"Then it wasn't a Hindu burial," he argued.

She sighed at him. "His parents were Christian. He was raised a Christian. They combined both faiths. What does it matter?"

"It doesn't," he shrugged. "He's still dead."

"I know and it's Christmas," she said flatly. "I miss him and I'm going to go pay my respects."

House clamped his mouth shut on the retort he was going to throw out. His new little angle on his shoulder told him that the look on her face meant that she was deadly serious about this and if he pursued the pointlessness of it, she would become angry. "When are you going?" he asked her instead.

She frowned considering it for a moment. "I need to go home and shower and pick something up before I go."

He had no idea why he asked, but his mouth was saying, "You want me to come with you?"

She blinked at him, stunned for a moment. "Why?"

He shook his head, confused at his own offering. "I don't know."

She touched her hand to his face. "You don't have to go with me. I know you don't believe in that kind of stuff."

He closed his eyes. "Pure truth and something real, right? I've got to start somewhere."

"But, this is a little more than telling me how you feel," she began. "It's confronting something that affected us all very profoundly. And very differently."

"I know," he said. She was skirting around the fact that Kutner's suicide was the spark that ignited the flames of his self-destruction. And he was glad that she was trying to protect him from himself, but for some reason he felt like he needed to do this with her. "Come on finish eating and we'll go to your apartment so you can get changed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure." He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her lips to further seal his intentions. She turned her head to look at the tray and a smile broke through on her face.

"Is that a candy cane?" she asked plucking it from her vase. "And holly?"

"No mistletoe," he shrugged apologetically.

"Good thing," she said with a giggle, "because that stuff is dangerous."

House snorted a laugh. "You're telling me."

_Quack, quack…just like a baby duck._


	6. Chapter 6

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

_A/N: Thank you to all who are still interested in this! Special nod goes to my eagle eye Spot and Punk for keeping me on my toes and for keeping me honest. It is a much better chapter because of it! So, without further ado, into much fluff some angst must come…_

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Chapter 6

Remy pulled her car up along side of the curved roadway that lead to the gravesite. She yanked on the emergency break and sat for a long moment just letting the car idle. The small interior space was silent and it felt oppressive. On any other day, she would have had music playing but there was such gravity to their situation today that it seemed inappropriate to have lively soundtrack in the background so she had turned it off.

House… Greg… she didn't even really know what to call him now after last night, sat beside her in the passenger seat quiet and somber. They really hadn't spoken to each other since they began their trip to the cemetery twenty minutes ago. He was quiet and inside himself which was fine because she really didn't feel much like talking anyway. Sliding a glance at him, she frowned slightly. His face was kind of passive but his eyes were a calm shade of blue, almost like the water in the bay before a storm. The man had such a repertoire of facial expressions, most of them of the angry or sarcastic variety, but this one was new. She didn't quite know what to make of it. There were so many expressions he had shown her over the last thirty-six hours that she was beginning to wonder if she really knew who Greg House was at all.

She didn't understand at all why he had insisted on going with her. The afternoon that Kutner had died, he had insulted his parents, but that, she knew, was some kind of dysfunctional coping mechanism. After that, he had searched in vain for reasons as to why the young, seemingly happy doctor would have killed himself. They all had, but not to the extent of House's obsession. They had finally accepted that nobody could or would ever be able discern what Kutner's reason was. Remy didn't know why, but at the time, when it happened, she was upset with House for not attending the funeral. She should have known he wouldn't; he had to be drugged and kidnapped to attend his own father's. Maybe that was why she was so confused now. Why now all of a sudden? Why come to the place Kutner's ashes were buried and pay the respects that he should have done when it all happened? Was it because of her? She hoped not, because she didn't need him to hold her hand.

Remy wasn't angry with him; she just didn't understand. House didn't believe in the afterlife. He didn't believe in ritual, because it was irrational. If there was one hard and fast rule with him was that everything was steeped in the rational. Well, at least when it didn't have to do with him. But, that was before he lost his mind. He was different now.

She knew that the insomnia started after Kutner's death. She knew that he began to hallucinate because of it and she knew that because of his pride and his twisted sense of puzzle solving that he couldn't ask for help. Part of her had feared that he would go down the very same path as Kutner did. House was miserable, disaffected by the people around him, gloriously causing misery in others as if maybe someone else's pain could somehow ease his. Some say that he had been slowly losing his mind for years. Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn't. She had seen glimmers of his humanity, of his reaching out to others through albeit unconventional channels and she had wished that something, anything, would have sparked that tiny bit of hope in him. But she had worried most that if he had lost the one thing he took pride in, his genius, that there would be no hope for him. However, it turned out that one strong connection that he did have to Wilson somehow grounded him and thereby saved him from himself.

House was very different now. Mayfield had changed him. Not totally changed him. He was still an ass when it came to interactions with others. His sarcasm and ego were still as strong as ever, but there was intention behind it now; a motivation to make the world a little better, at least for himself. He was making connections to people, trying to understand what it meant to interact with people on an emotional level. He was relearning how to love. And that was a good thing. Maybe joining her today was his way to make that connection to the fellow he lost, and the friendship he should have had but never would.

Seeing things in a different light now, Remy turned off the engine and left the keys in the ignition, just in case he decided to stay back. He looked at her now, eyes clouded with darkness and concern. Those eyebrows were like dark awnings covering his apprehension with a heavy scowl.

Remy swallowed and lifted the corner of her mouth in an attempt at a reassuring smile. This was hard enough for her; she wasn't really capable of having to support him too. "You don't have to go," she told him.

"I do," he said. He was adamant and she knew there was no discussing it further.

Grabbing the door handle, she pushed it open and stepped outside into the frigid winter air. Drawing her coat around her, she tied the belt tighter to protect from the wind as it picked up and blew through her. She had her gloves on but she pushed her hands into her coat pockets to make sure that her gift to her friend was still there. She knew it was compulsive but she couldn't help it. She had held onto them for so long that if she'd lost them now, she wouldn't know what to do with herself.

As she turned to face the plot, she saw House rise slowly out of the car and close the door behind him. His pea coat collar was turned up against the wind and his red scarf hung loosely down the sides of the lapels. He looked warm enough but she knew the cold had to be torture on his leg. Coming up along side him, she thought about taking his free hand in hers but he jammed it into his coat pocket leaving the other one out to tend to his cane. She guessed that they were both a little awkward about the personal space boundaries. They may have crossed all sorts of lines last night but now, the day after, they were still two people who worked closely together yet didn't really know all that much about each other.

Her eyes met his for a brief moment to check if he was still okay with this. He nodded at her and then looked down at her hand hanging by her side. He frowned making a face and took his hand out to lace his fingers with hers. Remy smiled an awkward little smile at him and they stepped together side by side into the snow making a path toward the charcoal gray granite headstone.

With every passing step her heart grew heavier. She hadn't been here since the funeral. Then, the grass had been green and the smell of the fresh dirt flashed though her scent memory. She recalled the smell of smoke from the funeral pyre and she had to shake her head to clear her memory of it. They were almost there. Remy vaguely wished she had put on some Chapstick to protect her lips from the bitter cold but then was distracted by the tug of his hand on hers as he slowed down beside her.

Remy turned took look at him wondering if he was having trouble because of his leg. One look at his face and she grew immediately concerned. His eyes were large, wide open… almost nervously alert. She had never seen actual fear in his eyes before. The apprehension she had witnessed last night in his eyes was completely different. He was afraid of being emotionally vulnerable and open to her because he was afraid that she would reject him. This, right now, what he was revealing was palpable, tangible panic.

Doubling back to him because he had come to a full stop, she placed her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't speak. He could only look at her like a terrified little boy. "House…" she began. He was silent, his face a kaleidoscope of feelings. She watched him work through a series of emotions all of them reflected in his dark eyebrows. His jaw worked and his hand began to tighten around hers as he dug his cane into the snow. She stepped closer to him and squeezed her hand tighter on his coat sleeve. "Are you ok?"

Distractedly, he shook his head then and blinked away the visions that were clouding his mind. His eyes focused intently on hers and she was a little overwhelmed by the raw pain inside of him.

He stared at her for an eternity before he opened his lips to speak. "I hallucinated him, with Amber," he said, his voice a croak of a whisper.

Remy's heart sank and she struggled to keep the appearance of sympathy from her face. She didn't want him to mistake her empathy for pity. "It wasn't real."

"It was real enough," he said looking away in shame. Her heart ached for him. There was no way she could possibly even fathom how difficult this was for him. She wished she could say something to help him, but she didn't know how.

He frowned and then brought his eyes back to hers. "I made you go find him." He shook his head swallowing down the guilt rising in his throat like bile.

Remy closed her eyes. She fought the automatic flash of memory she had tried to suppress for months.

"I saw you come in all covered in his blood…" he explained and then his voice broke off. He swallowed hard. "I made you go. You should never have had to see him like that."

"You couldn't have known," she tried. "No one did."

The wind kicked up again and he pulled her into his arms to shield her from its wicked bite. He held onto her for a moment, just breathing.

"I tried for months to understand why," he said into her hair as he held her. "It still doesn't sit right with me how we couldn't have known. How we, who search and see everything, didn't see _anything_."

Remy pulled back from him to look him in the eye. "Sometimes there is no reason; rational or irrational. Sometimes people just don't want to suffer anymore. We can all say 'why?' and 'how could we have not seen it?'. We can sit there and scream at the world, 'how come we didn't know?' But we can't _ever_ know. He didn't want us to know."

"You're ok with this?" he asked her in confusion.

"No, I'll never be ok with it," she told him. "I miss him every day. Sometimes I wake up crying because I can still see his lifeless eyes and feel his blood on my hands and face." He winced at her description but he needed to hear the truth. Platitudes and lies wouldn't assuage his guilt however misplaced it was. "There was nothing any of us could do. I have to move on. I can't live the time I have left knowing that I wasted one more minute mourning the loss of someone who didn't want to be saved."

His breath caught in his chest and she could see his eyes red and full of unshed tears that he was trying desperately to push down. He shook his head and looked deeply into her eyes. "When did you get your shit so together?"

She smiled ruefully at him as her own tears blurred her eyes. "When you lost yours."

He closed his eyes and a lone tear fell down his cheek. She didn't move to wipe it away or deny its existence. She let it stay there as witness to his pain and remorse about the whole situation. It was okay to cry. This was something valid enough to cry over and there was nothing to be ashamed of. They had lost so much, a colleague and a friend. House had lost his mind and she had been inspired to take control over hers. Maybe those were the two good things to come out of this whole tragedy. House had found his humanity and she had been able to accept her eventual death as part of her life.

Holding her close to him as if she were a tether to something real, he sniffed the rest of his tears away. He looked out into the horizon for a second before huffing a bitterly self-deprecating laugh. "Well I'm glad my going crazy had such a positive effect on you."

She smiled at him and touched her hand to his chest. "I think it had a pretty positive effect on you too."

"Oh yes, I'm just ducky," he quipped.

"Stop deflecting," she reminded him. "You're making strides, taking chances that you never were capable of before."

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "God, you sound like Nolan and Wilson."

"I'm not just saying it," she replied. "It's the truth."

"Question…" He inhaled a cold breath into his lungs, exhaling it in a stream of vapor from his nostrils. "Would you have stayed last night if I weren't who I am now?"

"You mean if you were the crazy genius drug addict you were before?" she reiterated. "No."

He pulled his head back affronted by her blunt answer.

"Hold on," she urged putting her hand to his scarf keeping him there in the circle of their embrace. "You would never have asked me. And if you did, it would have been just some wild fuck over your office balcony. It could never have been the amazing thing we shared last night."

He lowered his eyes to her gloved hand on his chest. "No it wouldn't have been," he agreed quietly. Suddenly a grin spread over his face, and his chest puffed out. "It was pretty amazing."

Remy laughed at his posturing. "Yes, it was."

"I'd like to keep… doing it," he told her with a little grin.

"I thought that was the plan," she questioned.

"I'm just checking," he said.

"That was the whole 'pure truth, honesty and something real' part," she reminded him.

Nodding, he smiled at her recalling her terms. "Are we good now?" she asked.

"Good enough," he said taking her hand in his again. "Let's do this."

Remy followed his lead and took them the last few steps to the grave marker.

For as biting cold as the wind was today, there was a peace about the air. A bright sunlight shone in a blinding light that bounced, glistening off the snow. The sky was clear blue with big clouds as if it were the middle of spring. Remy thought it appropriate since that was how Kutner always was, quirkily happy, always radiantly curious and refreshingly kind. He may have had his demons but he was the kind of guy who never let any of it show. She wasn't sure now, if that was a good thing, but it gave her happy memories of him. She was comforted that he was at peace now and that he could reconcile whatever it was with his maker. They were healing, all of them and it was time to say goodbye, without pain.

They slowly approached the headstone. A grave blanket of fir and holly lay draped over the base for the spirit of the season, no doubt put there by his parents. And bumpy little rock sat atop the rough-hewn surface of the granite.

"Taub was here," House said.

Remy turned to look at him. "How do you know?"

"Only Jews put rocks on the headstones," he said. "_'teheye nishmato tsrurah b'tsror haChayyim_'. It means, 'May his soul be bound up in the bounds of eternal life'."

Remy smiled. He had so much random information inside his head it was astonishing. "How come you know so much about Judaism?"

He shrugged. "My one point five friends are Jewish."

"One point five?"

"Wilson and only half of Cuddy," he explained. "She gets only half a rating."

Remy quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is that because you're in love with her?"

"I'm not in love with her," he stated clearly and definitively. "I thought I was, but that was a delusion."

"For the record, I wasn't in love with Foreman," she added so that he was clear on that.

"I know," he stated confidently.

"Oh really?"

House rolled his eyes and shifted from foot to foot. "Just say what you've got to say to Kutner and lets get the hell out of here. I'm freezing my balls off."

Remy shook her head and took a step forward placing her hand on top of the headstone. "Hi, it's me," she began awkwardly. It felt a little strange to have House lurking over her shoulder as she did this but she forced herself to ignore him. She needed to connect to Kutner. Christmas was his favorite season. "I've missed you. We all have," she said braving a look back at House. He lifted his chin to her and burrowed further into his coat.

"Guess who came with me? If you weren't cremated, you'd be rolling over in your grave, but House is here." She chuckled imagining his goofy laugh and cheesy smile. "It's Christmas and I've been thinking a lot about you. He still wears your secret Santa watch, you know. He won't say it, but he misses you too." She looked at him again and he gave her a little smile.

"Testicles don't make good ice cubes," he replied.

"And still as impatient as ever," she continued sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Kutner would have given her that nod of commiseration for when House was being House. "I came here to bring you a gift." She paused and stuck her hand into her pocket again, feeling for the four cardboard tickets. Taking a deep breath, she plucked them out of her coat and looked at them. Tears came to her eyes immediately brimming over and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. There was a hole in her chest as her heart became as heavy as the day they had buried him. "The Star Trek movie is out on dvd now. They did a whole big ad campaign for Christmas. You would've gone berserk," her voice caught on a hiccup and she closed her eyes. "I kept the tickets we pre-ordered. Nobody went. None of us could see it so soon… without you."

Remy suddenly felt House's hands on her shoulders and his face press close to her hair. She closed her eyes as more hot tears took their turn to burn a path down her cold cheeks. She wasn't sure what made her cry more, the pain of not being able to share the movie with her friend or House awkwardly offering her comfort as a lover would. It was sweet and it squeezed at her heart.

Absorbing the strength from his hands on her, glad that he was there, she took a resolved breath. "I brought the tickets for you. You can have them. I don't need them anymore." She bent forward and picked up the rock that House said Taub had put there and placed the four movie tickets underneath. "Now you can watch it for eternity." She bent down close to the face of the monument and another set of tears rolled down her face. "Just be there for me when I get there, ok?" she whispered and pressed her lips to her fingertips placing it on his engraved name.

_Lawrence Kutner 1975-2009. Loving son_.

When she stood up, House's eyes were on her. She swiped at the now chilled tears and tried not to cry anymore. House didn't say anything; he just looked into her eyes. Sighing, he told her, "Give me a minute."

Remy gave him a little smile and trailed her fingers down his arm to the hand on top of his cane. Giving him a gentle squeeze, she left him there to communicate what he needed to in private. Once she reached the car she looked back over her shoulder and checked to see how he was doing. His head was bent in and his shoulders were slumped. He looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. It had been for so long, Remy wondered it he'd ever really feel clear of it. After a few moments, he turned then and began his trek back. Sitting in the car, she turned it on to warm it up as she waited for him to come back.

Finally in the passenger seat, he slid his eyes to hers. The lines of his face had softened and he was back to his normal, relaxed self, some dormant inner demons shed. Remy chuckled to herself. That was an oxymoron of universal proportions. House's new 'normal' state of being was and 'relaxed' and dare she say… 'content'? That was indeed something to get used to.

"Well, that was fun," he muttered dryly.

"Why did you want to come with me?" Remy asked, unable to quell her curiosity.

House sat there for a long time staring at the curved handle of his cane between his legs. "I guess there were things I needed to say."

"Do you feel better?" she wondered.

"No." He flicked his eyes to her. "You?"

Shaking her head, she huffed a tiny laugh. "No but, I'm glad I went."

He reached his hand across the consol of the car and took her fingers into his. Remy felt a rush of electricity run through her at his sensitive touch and it brought back fresh memories of their night together. "I'm glad I went too," he replied honestly with a little smile as he studied her fingers.

House was trying. He was feeling things that were bad and pushing through to the other side. He was being open and honest with her. It was remarkable, to say the least and it made her feel very special to be privileged enough to see to it. She was drawn to him, she always had been, but now, she was intrigued. This new House confused her, but she was excited to explore and see just how much she could come to know him. Like they had said before, it would be complicated. And Remy was wiling to take the chance.


	7. Chapter 7

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 7

Monday morning came and House was feeling… uncertain.

After going to Kutner's grave, he and Thirteen had a nice weekend. They had gone to eat, seen a movie and then wound up back at her place. He had spent the night, which of course was thoroughly amazing. Sadly though, House had to call Wilson, his gatekeeper, to let him know that he wouldn't be home. He had received three texts throughout the afternoon questioning what his plans were. House wasn't in love with the fact that Wilson still had to keep tabs on him but he supposed it was still a necessary evil, at least for a while. After the emotional situation he and Thirteen had experienced by going to the grave, it was entirely possible that he could have fallen off the wagon. It's what he would have done in his other life. If he wasn't with Thirteen, he might have gone to a bar. The irony of that was pretty weighty. If he wasn't _with Thirteen_, he wouldn't have gone to visit Kutner in the first place, thereby not needing a bender of catastrophic proportions to ease his mind. But it had turned out ok, because he was _with her_. And that was a good thing in all aspects.

_With Thirteen_… He still couldn't believe it. Even after spending the night at her place, making love to her and waking up with her in his arms again, he was still amazed that he was _with her_. He wasn't exactly sure what to label what they were doing. They were in something that was clearly more than just sex, that was for sure. What he felt when he was near her was extremely intense. He couldn't stop thinking about her. This pure truth and honesty thing still weighed heavily on him, but he was willing to try. They were lovers and now they were starting to spend time together. He supposed that what they were in was an actual fledgling relationship. That was a little scary. Wilson was right. The last relationship he was in was ten years ago. Ten years was a long time to be alone.

But here they were now, at work on Monday morning. House sipped his coffee as he discreetly watched her from across the table. She was doing a pretty good job of ignoring him. She was drinking her decaf and reading a medical journal at the table. Her foot tapped to a silent rhythm under the table. He knew because he could see it through the glass of the table; and she was wearing her Christmas present to herself. He smiled because he actually knew that information. The only other thing he knew about her shoes was that there was one pair Foreman liked a lot. The guy couldn't keep his eyes off her feet when she wore them. Even still. House wondered if she wore them now just to piss him off, because they really were ugly. She was a little passive aggressive like that. He also wondered if she wore the Italian boots now because he liked them. Probably not. They were new, and a gift to herself. Why the hell wouldn't she wear them to work?

He shook himself and laughed inside his head as he continued to watch her. He was amused by her ability to just 'flick the switch'. Not one person in the room could tell that she had screamed out his name twice as she came in ecstasy a mere thirty-six hours ago. She ignored him like she had no knowledge about how he liked it when she ran her fingernails up his chest. Nope, she was a blank slate. He shouldn't be surprised. She had done it with Foreman. He used to mock them about being a couple, claiming they'd agree with each other or disagree with one another because they were sleeping together, but truthfully she operated as if nothing were any different. If he wasn't as keenly observant, and nosy, as he was, House would have never known about their relationship. She was a closed book.

He wondered if Foreman could tell.

She had barely spoken more than two words to the man since he entered the office a half an hour ago. They had been pretty non-communicative since she had come back to work a month ago. And maybe House was more aware of it now because he gave a shit, but it seemed like maybe she was ignoring her ex more than usual. Maybe she wasn't. House didn't know. She screwed up his perceptive radar like a jamming signal, now more than ever because he was the one sleeping with her.

_Damn, guilt sucked_. No wonder why he didn't give a shit before. The Vicodin kind of numbed him to all of that unnecessary bullshit. He could go through the entire day without giving two ounces of a crap about people and be none the worse for wear. Now, he was feeling like a son of a bitch because he had broken the guy code and slept with a pseudo-friend's girl. It wasn't like he and Foreman ever really had a friend thing going on, but he had known him and worked closely with him for over six years. In real human terms, that is if either one of them could be called a real human being, that length of time had to amount to something that resembled a friendship. He wouldn't mack on a woman Wilson was interested in, or dated, for that matter. _Would he?_ If she had a great rack… maybe? Hell, he wasn't sure. _Come on… who was he kidding? _He was an asshole. He probably would.

House slid his eyes to his neurologist. He was sitting at the computer desk, entering file notes into the electronic files he maintained. Did House really care about betraying Foreman? He wasn't going to stop sleeping with her. He liked her too much. That much was a given. His guilt wasn't that strong and Foreman seemed to not really care that she was around. He seemed a little more distant than usual, but that wasn't a stretch. He was an emotional robot. Maybe he had gotten over it. Maybe he'd put it behind him and moved on. There was really no way to tell.

Suddenly, House noticed Chase looking at him weirdly. House narrowed his eyebrows at him and the younger doctor arched an eyebrow curiously in return. House scowled back, sipping his coffee and Chase merely scoffed turning his attention back to his crossword puzzle with a disinterested shrug. Bored, House stood and began to make his way into his office. His movement caused everyone to bring their eyes to him. As soon as they realized he was leavening the table they all went back to what they were doing. Her eyes lingered on him just a fraction of a second longer than everyone else as he passed and a ghost of smile graced her lips. She might have been a closed book to everyone else, but he was able to read her.

That was nice.

* * *

Later that morning, Remy was down in the clinic working some off her weekly hours. They didn't have a patient and everyone was going a little stir crazy in the office. Chase eventually went to scrub into an appendectomy to keep from dying of boredom and Taub had gone down to the ER to relieve the doctors there who were dealing with after-Christmas toy debacles and ice skating injuries. House had gone to bother Wilson because his patience level had worn itself out about an hour after searching Youtube for cheerleading routines with nubile young girls in really short skirts. She happened to be coming back from the bathroom when he limped by with his cane. No one was around so she had reached her hand out and lightly brushed his fingers with hers as she passed by. He turned his head to look at her but she kept walking just like she had always done before. She could hear him chuckle and it made her smile. It was cute how insecure he was about being around her this morning. He was so wound up he didn't really know what to do with himself. She half expected him to stand on the table and announce it to the room just to get it off his chest. It was weird, because he wore all of his really personal things so close to the chest that no one ever really knew what was going on his mind. But now she was beginning to recognize those signals for what they were. She had a secret decoder ring to the mystery and it was kind of cool to look through the lens. They had essentially only spent a weekend together but she had a wealth of information already. She wondered if they began to spend some serious time with each other just how much she'd be able to tell what was going inside that skull of his.

Remy closed the file on her patient with a case of ringworm from wrestling on filthy high school wrestling mats and was about to grab the next one when Foreman showed up at her elbow, startling her.

"I texted you all weekend," he announced as if she had no idea. "You didn't respond to a single one."

"I know," she said flatly. "I don't have to respond to your texts anymore. And for that matter, you shouldn't be texting me at all unless it has to do with a patient."

His dark round eyes softened and he almost pouted at her. "It was Christmas. I was thinking about you." He paused and sighed. "I didn't want you to be alone."

"I wasn't alone," she told him and picked up her next file, leaving the nurse's station in the direction of Exam Two. No, she was far from alone. Joined at the hips was more like it. She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling about that.

"You weren't alone?" he followed her. "Who were you with?"

Remy stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but I do have some family." It was a lie, but if she hadn't spend Christmas day with House she would have gone to her cousin's despite her four kids.

Foreman looked immediately chagrinned. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to imply…"

Remy took a step forward challenging him. His pushiness was annoying her. "Why did you continue to text me, Eric? Especially when I didn't respond to the first five?" She had to eventually turn off the vibrate on her phone because the constant alert was annoying her. She didn't care what he had to say to her.

He swallowed hard and pulled himself up taller, staring at her for a long moment. "I miss you."

"I'm seeing someone," she blurted out. She surprised herself with that admission. But whatever, it was out there now.

Foreman looked like she had slapped him. "You're seeing someone?! Who?"

"That truly is none of your business," she said clutching the file folder to her chest. She put her hand on the doorknob but Foreman stayed her with his hand on hers. He closed the distance between their bodies as he stepped into her personal space. The smell of his cologne circled around her in a familiarity and she fought against the memories it brought back to the surface.

"I still love you," he told her in hushed tones.

Remy closed her eyes. _Why? Why did he have to do this now?_

"Eric…" she broke off. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what she was feeling. Her head was a jumble. "Why are you doing this?"

"I want you back," he pleaded. "I know I lost you, but I'm hoping you can forgive me."

"Forgive you?" she cried incredulously and then looked around self-consciously. God, she hoped House wasn't just around the corner. _God damn, this hospital and their glass walls_. She dropped her voice and stared at him pointedly. "You hurt me, Eric."

"Are you in love with…" his voice trailed off, dangling the question she would forever have to justify to everyone now that they knew she was bi-sexual.

She rolled her eyes and let out a disgusted snort. "_Him_," she stated forcefully. "It's a man and that is also none of your goddamn business." She shoved him out of her personal space, becoming irritated with the whole scenario he was creating here. "You're right. You lost your chance with me. It's over, Eric. Now leave me alone. I have a job to do."

Remy pushed the door open and slammed it in his face with a force that didn't really give her the satisfaction she had hoped. Instead, it had earned her a befuddled look from the woman sitting on the exam table. Taking a calming breath, Remy went about her job sidelining the confrontation with her ex to the back burner. She'd deal with what all that meant later; because the fact that he could rile her up so quickly didn't sit well with her… at all.

She was with House now.

She was happy about that.

And she wanted to keep it that way.


	8. Chapter 8

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 8

"You seem content."

"I am content."

"Something changed," Nolan observed.

"Something changed." House shifted his position and settled into the high-backed chair in Nolan's office. It looked stupidly rigid but it was oddly comfortable.

He was there for their Monday afternoon appointment. House had graduated down to once a week now that he had his license back and was working full time again. It was annoying to have to come all the way down here for these sessions in the middle of his day, but as a stipulation to the reinstatement of his medical license, he needed to continue with the therapy. Of course, he would never admit that it actually helped. That would be justification and that just wasn't cool.

"What changed?"

House hedged a bit, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. "I had a good weekend."

"Did you celebrate the holiday?"

"Yup," he nodded his head. His fingers still tapped however he moved them to his kneecap. He was fidgety. Nolan noticed. He noticed everything.

"What did you do?" Nolan asked patiently. They had fallen into a rhythm of 'ask and answer'. Nolan would ask the question and House would give the short answer and then Nolan would ask another leading question to draw out the real answers he sought. It was a game of cat and mouse. Except Nolan was like a lion and House was like a gazelle sprinting from every possible truth there was. Nolan had to be the most patient and persistent person in the world to deal with House and his impertinent and _impatient_ stubbornness.

"Spent it with Wilson," House half answered. It wasn't a lie; it was only half the truth.

"Isn't Wilson Jewish?" the psychiatrist inquired. He knew the answer to that question, yet he asked it anyway. Of course he had some point he was getting to.

"We spun a dreidle and flipped some gold coins for Chanukah, if you're worried that he didn't get his fair share."

"Are you worried that you ignore his customs, is that why you're deflecting?"

"No. I'm not worried. I just ignore his customs as a rule," House stated and then continued the tapping.

"So you're deflecting for another reason?" Of course, Nolan would see through his screen. "What do you think that reason is?"

House took in a breath and puffed out his cheeks pretending to not know what Nolan was getting at. He did actually want to talk. He just wasn't quite sure how to get the ball rolling. He let out his breath on a long sigh and made a face. _Just throw it out there_… "I went to Kutner's grave."

Nolan's expression changed to one of surprise. He wasn't expecting that. Apparently, it was a shock to everyone involved. "Tell me about that. What made you do that?"

House shifted against the cushions of the chair. "I went with Thirteen," he said quietly.

The black man's eyebrows raised an inch higher. Now he was really surprised. "You went with Thirteen? That's interesting. How did it come to be that you would go anywhere with Thirteen? Especially someplace so relevant?"

House took in a swift breath and averted his eyes running his thumb over his brow.

Nolan watched him for a second and then his expression changed again. He smiled in realization, getting the jist of it now. "You spent the weekend with her?" When House didn't confirm or deny, the light bulb got brighter. "You had sex with Thirteen?"

"I don't really see how that's relevant to me going to visit the grave of my employee who shot himself in the temple and didn't tell anyone he was having such problems," House skirted the issue. _God, was he really that legible?_

"Ok. We'll come back to that." Nolan nodded, letting it drop for now. "She must have asked you to go?"

"No." House looked at him. "I offered."

Nolan's eyes narrowed in concern. "You offered?"

House shook his head, still confused himself about why he felt the need to go with her. "It felt right to go."

"Why do you think that is?"

"She wanted to go to give him movie tickets they never used," House told him with a shrug. "She had saved them since he killed himself."

"That's why she went," Nolan stated. "Why did _you_ go?"

"I wasn't invited to the movie so I didn't have any tickets to give him," House sniped.

"Does it bother you that you weren't invited?"

"No. Why the hell would I care?"

"Was it just the two of them?"

"No. There were four tickets."

"There were four tickets, but you weren't invited," Nolan reiterated.

House shrugged. "I wasn't friends with them… Why would they…"

"You say that with a touch of regret," Nolan pointed out. "Did you want to be friends with them? More importantly, did you want to be friends with Kutner?"

House sat quietly for a long moment. And Nolan let him. _Did he want to be friends with Kutner?_ _Is that what it was about?_ He liked the kid, at times. He was annoying as hell for the most part. But he did have a curiosity about things that intrigued House. In a way, he reminded him of himself. He took risks and didn't care what people thought. "The week before he killed himself he pissed in my chair."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

"I teased him about being superstitious about a cat," House said. He winced as he heard the guilt attached to his words. "He pissed in my chair to get me back."

"That bothers you," Nolan said.

"I don't… I didn't think he'd be that… vindictive. That he'd be that pissed, literally."

"So it bothers you that your sharp words had such an affect on him?"

"No," House ground out. "I was like that all the time with him."

"But you think this time you pushed him to take a gun to his head," he declared. It wasn't a question. It was a flat out statement.

"No of course not. You don't shoot yourself in the head because someone makes fun of you about a cat," House objected. "There were some way deeper things going on. It wasn't my fault."

"No it wasn't," Nolan repeated. "But you had quite a reaction to what transpired."

"It was a shock," House defended.

"Of course," Nolan agreed benignly. "Suicide, even when you know it might be coming, is always a shock when it happens."

House stared at him. He hated when Nolan would do that. State the obvious, like House was an idiot. "I don't think it's my fault."

"Then why do you think you developed insomnia?"

"I was using too much Vicodin. I was in pain," he paused. He had fallen back on his typical excuses. Now, after being clean for six months, they sounded so lame when spoken out loud.

He knew whythe insomnia came. He just couldn't say it. It was stupid really. The truth was it was about his addiction to puzzles, not drugs.

House shook his head and let out a disgruntled breath. "I couldn't stop wondering why. There were no answers. I couldn't find any. It was senseless and a coward's way out."

"You think that he was a coward, when you lived in pain everyday, physically and psychically, and yet _you_ never took the easy way out. What did he have to be so upset about? What was so terrible in his life that he couldn't live with it anymore but you continued to hang on?"

"Your damn right he was a coward!" House felt himself get angry. "Living in misery is better than dying in it. Death is the end. There's nothing more after it. You can't fix anything by dying."

"And that makes you angry."

"It was pointless. He had people, he had friends." House looked at him the anger dissipating, being replaced by something else. "He wasn't alone."

"So by thinking he was a coward because he didn't reach out, you held out hope that things would get better for you. Is that why you wouldn't take your own life?"

House shook his head confused. "This isn't about me, this is about Kutner."

"Everything is about you," Nolan said. "Every reaction that you have to life around you is viewed through your perception of it."

"Wait, I'm confused," House shook his head. "I'm not supposed to be a narcissist, but everything is about me?"

Nolan laughed then and crossed his legs, steepling his finger against his jaw. "In this room, everything is about you. Out there, you're supposed to try to take into account the feelings of others." House was quiet for a moment, contemplating the wearing on the side seam of his jeans. "Your perception of Kutner's death is relevant because you made it relevant. And then you felt the pull to go to his grave. For a man who believes that death is the end, that is a contradiction in rationale. The question begs, why did you go?" Nolan shrugged and flicked his hand proposing a question. "Did you go because of her?"

House shook his head. "No. I told you before, I felt like I needed to go."

"Did you talk to him?"

Shifting again in the chair, House pursed his lips together. "Yeah."

"What did you say to him?"

"I told him he was an idiot," House said flatly. He felt the tightness in his chest and he cleared his throat. He needed to tell the truth, to get it out. "I miss him. I like my team now. They work. It all works. But… I miss him."

Nolan raised his eyebrows and nodding in approval. "It's ok to miss him."

"He could have been a great doctor," House said and then began to laugh. "If he didn't blow up the hospital first."

"Why does that amuse you?"

"He had a knack for setting things on fire," he shook his head. "He was brilliant and yet so stupid."

"He made you laugh," Nolan added.

House nodded. "Yeah, he made me laugh."

"That's a good thing," Nolan told him.

House nodded and then looked around the office. He felt like he was done talking about Kutner.

"So tell me about Thirteen," Nolan seized his opportunity.

House rolled his eyes at the transparent segue. "_Thirteen_ is a prime number that comes after _twelve_ and before _fourteen_."

Nolan chuckled and the nodded his head, knowingly. "Yes, Thirteen is a number. It's also the nickname for your employee that you have an attraction to and have apparently acted on."

"You're judging," House identified. There was that tone.

Nolan smiled and shook his head in disagreement. "It's complicated. Like the situation with Lydia."

House stared at him. _Why did he have to bring her up?_ He had long forgotten about her. "Thirteen is not married."

"No. She is your employee, the ex-girlfriend of your other employee and she's dying of Huntington's Chorea. That's pretty complicated."

"Yes, thank you, I haven't considered any of those things," House snarked.

"Tell me how you got there, from being colleagues to having sex," Nolan requested.

"Well, when you like someone and you feel that little tingle in your privates…"

"Greg, you could waste my time all day with your cute little deflections," Nolan said patiently. "I'm immune to them. So you might as well cut to the chase because you know we'll get there anyway."

Relenting, House sighed. "I pursued her."

"Go on," Nolan prompted waving his hand for him to continue, satisfied that he had won the battle of wills.

"I kissed her," he told him.

"And she reciprocated," he surmised.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Then Wilson texted her the next day _as me_."

"You talked to Wilson about the situation?" Nolan asked seriously.

"Yeah."

"You confided in him."

"Yeah."

"Ok. So what happened after he opened this conversation?"

"I invited her over for Christmas dinner."

Nolan gave him an impressed sort of frown. When Nolan approved of something House did, his mouth turned in a downward line but it wasn't a frown of disapproval. It was just the way his large mouth moved when he was contemplating something.

"She came over. We ate."

"And?"

"And, we kissed." _What did he need, a trail of breadcrumbs?_

"And then she spent the night."

"Yup."

"And this makes you feel content."

"Well, who wouldn't?" House rolled his eyes. "It was good sex."

"So just a sexual release or was it an emotional connection?"

House scratched at the back of his head. "It was more than sex."

"Ok, so you've had another deep emotional connection in a complicated situation," Nolan observed. "Are you intending to pursue a relationship with her?"

"Yeah, I like her." That was the truth. He had said it Wilson. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her. Yeah, it was complicated but it was also very simple. "I really like her."

"You're very attracted to her," Nolan stated.

_That was an understatement._ "You know when magnets are drawn together," he began, demonstrating with his hands the attraction.

"Opposing polarity, yes."

"Well, this is like an MRI," House replied.

"That's pretty powerful," Nolan commented.

House's eyebrows drew together into a frown. "It's extremely powerful."

"Like an addiction," Nolan concluded.

House sat there for a moment letting that statement sink in. It was remarkably close to the truth. And it was something he had been thinking about a lot since their first night together.

"That concerns you," the psychiatrist continued.

"Yeah, it concerns me," House argued. "I'm an addict. Everything I do, I do at full-bore."

Nolan dropped his hands to his crossed leg and laced his fingers together. "So you're afraid these intense feelings you have for Thirteen are not real and a manifestation of your addictive personality. That's an understandable concern."

"I guess," House shrugged.

"No, you know."

House let out a sigh. "Yes. I know. So what do I do about it? How do I know for sure?"

"Do you want my honest opinion? Or do you want to hear what you want to hear?"

"Sure, why not…"

Nolan took a breath and looked at him seriously. "You take a step backward, take time to get to know each other, for real. Figure out who each of you are outside of work."

House shook his head a little confused by what he was suggesting.

Nolan's face cracked into a smile. "I know you've defined yourself by your work for most of your adult life but there is a side of you that enjoys things, has preferences outside of being a doctor. There is a side of you that is just Greg. And I can guarantee you that she has a whole other life outside of her job. Do you know what any of that is?"

House made a face. "But, I've known her for three years."

"And yet you still refer to her as Thirteen, the number from her job interview," he pointed out. "What is her real name?"

"Remy. Remy Hadley." He never used her real name. It felt strange coming from his lips. He supposed that was the point.

"You need to get to know Remy Hadley. What are her likes, her dislikes? What does she do in her free time when she's not with you at the hospital? What kind of food does she like or not like? What is her favorite color?"

House held up his hand to stop him. The doctor could have gone on all day like that. Rolling his eyes, House said, "So you're telling me that if I know what her favorite color is, then I'll know if my feelings are real?"

Nolan gave him a patient smile. "No. I'm saying that in the process of discovering these trivial things about people, you begin to know if you are compatible or not… If your feelings for her are real."

House sighed. That was what he wanted. "Ok. So how do I do that?"

"Date her. Talk with her. Spend time with her. But…" he paused and leveled a serious look at him, "Refrain from having sex with her."

House shook his head. "Umm, no way. That's a non-negotiable."

"Sex clouds the perception," Nolan explained. "It's essentially a drug. Hormones and endorphins are released…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I went to medical school too."

Nolan sighed. "Sex creates the illusion of emotional intimacy. True emotional connection happens in the moments in between."

It sounded plausible. However, not nearly as fun, or enjoyable. "Heavy petting?" he negotiated.

Nolan frowned. This time is was a real frown. "Kissing, touching, holding hands, some snuggling. Being close without sexual connotations."

"What am I, twelve?" House complained.

"If you have to go back that far, yes."

House made a face. "For how long? Because the sex is really good."

Nolan gestured with his hand. "For as long as it takes."

"For as long as it takes," House repeated looking skyward for patience. "What does that mean? Can you give me a quantifier? We talking days? Weeks? Please God, not months?"

Nolan nailed him with a serious glare. "For as long as it take for you to know whether you are truly in love with her or if she's just a replacement for your Vicodin."

His words punctured him and went straight to his heart. It was brutal, but it was true. And he hated knowing that.

Sighing, House lifted his eyes to the doctor. "What if it's the second one?"

Nolan's face softened. "Then we cross that bridge when we come to it."


	9. Chapter 9

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 9

There was an incessant knock on Remy's loft door. She knew only one person annoying enough to knock repeatedly until the door was opened. It made her smile a little because for some reason she wasn't bothered by the fact that he was being obnoxious. It was cute. And that, in and of itself, was probably really annoying to just about everyone else.

Pulling her fuzzy gray cardigan around her, she unlatched the deadbolt and pulled open the door. _Yep, it was him_. He was leaning against the door jam on his shoulder, holding up his cane mid stroke. He smiled at her with that boyish grin and then moved to enter her hallway when she stepped aside, inviting him in.

It wasn't terribly late, maybe a little after seven in the evening, but she was already in her pajamas and had been contemplating opening a can of soup for dinner. She was glad to see him. After circulating around him like an independent satellite all day and then her confrontation with Foreman, she was relieved to have him near her, actually on purpose. Maybe now that he was here, she'd have better plans for the evening or at the very least, better food. The man was a god in the kitchen among his many other godlike attributes. She could get used to him cooking for her every night very, very fast.

Closing the door behind him, she padded after his lumbering gate down her long hallway in her bare feet into the living room. He sat down on the couch not bothering to take off his coat, but he casually put his feet up on her coffee table and rested his cane against the arm of the sofa. He had a look in his eye that was different. Something was bothering him.

Coming to sit beside him on the sofa, she took a breath keeping a respectable distance from him. Not too close, not too far. "What's wrong?" she asked him cautiously.

"We need to talk," he said with a frown.

_Oh god! Here it was… the dreaded talk._ He was calling it quits. Already. He had either seen Foreman talking with her or he just couldn't deal with the awkwardness at work. Either way, he was done. And that sucked.

Remy set her jaw steeling herself, waiting to hear what he had to say. A pit in her stomach told her she wasn't going to be totally ok with this, but she'd get over it. She'd have to. It had only been a couple of days. Some really, really good sex and nice emotional connection but, seriously it was only a couple of days.

His eyebrows were passive and his usually expressive eyes were unreadable. He didn't look distant, or angry, he just looked… preoccupied. It was really unsettling.

Sighing heavily, he reached out his hand and clasped hold of her fingers. Remy was a little surprised considering her was about to break up with her. His skin was cold, like he had been outside for a while. She looked more closely at him and noticed that his nose and cheeks were tinged with red. He was freezing.

"Have you been outside?" she questioned.

He frowned again. "I was… walking."

"Out in the cold? It's like twenty degrees outside."

"I had therapy today," he told her, not really answering her question.

She knew he still attended the therapy sessions but she really wasn't apprised as to when those happened. He was pretty private about that with the team. They were used to him disappearing from time to time, so it wasn't a stretch that he'd be gone for hours at a clip. He had disappeared late that afternoon after lunch. Apparently, he wasn't hiding in the morgue watching General Hospital today. He had gone to therapy instead.

"We talked about you," he said sliding his eyes to her.

"Really?" Remy asked. She was curious as all get out as to what was said, but she was afraid that if she asked too many questions he might shut down. And it still didn't mean he wasn't breaking up with her.

"Nolan thinks we should date," he said plainly. _Ok, that was the opposite of what she'd expected._

She raised her eyebrows in curiosity. That was quite different. Here, she thought he was about to end their little romance and now he was talking about dating. "Isn't it a little late for that? Dating, I mean… we just kind of skipped to the good part."

House chuckled and quirked his lips into a wry smirk. "Yeah, I thought that's what we were doing. Evidently not."

"Ok," she said cautiously. "Why?"

"I need to know if my feelings for you are legitimate," he said.

"What does that mean?"

"We all know how I tend to obsess," he spoke, bringing her hand into his lap. Remy inched closer so that she was just a few inches away from his shoulder. She could feel the cold coming off the wool of his pea coat as he began to warm up. It chilled her a little but not as much as the seriousness in his eyes. "I need to know that I'm not replacing my fixations with an addiction to you."

Remy didn't know what to say. That was a pretty weighty admission. In a way she was flattered, that he was so intensely into her that he was concerned it was another addiction. But, sadly, it could also be the truth. She could be his current Vicodin, or his next great mystery. And she didn't know what to make of that.

"And he proposes that we find this out by dating?" she questioned carefully.

"Yeah. He says I need to get to know you better, outside of work. Find out things about you, what things you like, don't like, what your favorite color is. Stuff like that."

"Ok. What's so terrible about that?" she wondered. "We want to spend time together. We've already talked about this being more that just sex."

He took in a sharp breath at her use of the word 'sex'. Remy arched an eyebrow at him, warily. _What was this all about?_

"Yeah, that's just it… he says we shouldn't have sex anymore." He shrugged and braved a look at her. "I told him he was the one who was insane but, then he pulled out his psychology bullshit and… well, you know…"

"Wow, ok." She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Giving up sex to build a relationship. That was a foreign concept, even for her.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered and looked down at his hand interlaced with hers.

Remy tipped her head back and forth, considering this. _It did make sense_. "You know, he's probably right."

House grunted and then closed his eyes, nodding in agreement. Remy felt so bad for him. He looked miserable, so completely down and out over it. He was pouting like a little kid who had his favorite toy taken away from him as a punishment. Suddenly, the situation tickled her as funny and Remy started to laugh. Then the giggle took over into bubbling wave and she threw her arms around his neck. She laughed into his neck as his arms came up to caress her, his own laughter joining in with hers.

"This is fucking absurd," he chuckled. "I'm sitting here discussing _not having sex_ with an incredibly beautiful woman so that I can build a relationship with her. A relationship! Who the fuck am I?"

Remy lifted her head off his shoulder and pressed her lips to his temple. He was so adorable. "You're the guy I'm willing to 'not have sex with'."

He sighed and ran his hand lovingly down her arm. "I guess you're the woman I'm willing to 'not have sex with' also."

Remy smiled. She was amazed that something so ludicrous could make her feel so special. She leaned in for a kiss and then hesitated, pulling back unsure of herself. "Are we allowed to kiss?"

He smiled at her and brought his hand up to curl his fingers around the back of her neck. "Kissing is fine. Touching is fine," he said trailing his fingers down the quickening pulse in her corroded artery following it with the burn of his eyes. "Holding hands is fine. Hugging and snuggling," he stressed, pulling her down across his lap and nuzzling her neck in the very spot he'd just touched with his fingertips. Remy giggled as his beard tickled her sensitive skin electrifying it to gooseflesh. "All of it's fine. Just no sex, no heavy petting, no over the clothes groping, no skin on skin contact, no dry humping, no sexual release." He was practically growling in already pent up frustration against the hypersensitive spot behind her ear. Becoming aroused and frustrated too, Remy's breath had sped up and she could feel her nipples straining against the light film of soft cotton from her nightshirt as he breathed his hot breath against her neck. _My God, he drove her crazy. How were they ever going to be able to do this?_

"It will be like middle school all over again," she whimpered, crossing her legs tightly to ease the ache growing in between her thighs.

"Pretty much," he murmured and then pulled his head back to look into her eyes. His deep blue eyes searched her for a moment and then he raised an eyebrow at her devilishly. "Maybe we can have sex one more time before we commit, sort of a 'to be continued at a later date'…"

Remy closed her eyes, warring with herself. She would like nothing more than to have him strip her naked and take her right there. Knowing now, just how amazing he was, just how much she loved his hands on her, she was hard pressed to not give in to her more carnal desires. But she wanted the realness with him. She wanted this to be an honest to goodness relationship. His doctor was right. They knew so little about each other. They couldn't even call each other by their real names. How could they embark on a journey of intimacy if they couldn't be intellectually close?

"We can't," she sighed regretfully. Looking into his eyes, she saw disappointment for a brief second but then it was replaced with an understanding and a true respect for what he wanted with her. She brought her hand up to caress the side of his face. He closed his eyes and melted into her palm for a moment. It was sweet and she was beginning to realize just how much he was tamed by her touch. He became peaceful and calm in a matter of seconds.

After a few long moments, he opened his eyes and looked down at her. "So what is your favorite color?"

Remy laughed and lifted her eyes toward the ceiling thinking about it for a moment. "Well, I like to wear only grays and blues and blacks but I think I really like to look at the color yellow. Yep, I really like the color yellow. Sometimes the bright daffodil yellow, but mostly the soft butter yellow in those creamy yellow roses that have just a touch of pink on top."

House stared at her for a long time before shaking his head, his confusion rendering itself on his forehead. "That is the most convoluted answer to that question I think I've ever heard of."

Remy giggled and gave him a shrug. "Well, it's my answer," she stated stubbornly. "What's your favorite color?"

He scowled at her. "I don't have one."

"Oh come on, everyone has a favorite color," she told him.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess blue?"

"You've seriously never thought about this before?" she asked him in wonder.

"No. It's never been an issue before," he claimed. "I was capable of having sex before without knowing what they're favorites color was."

Remy grinned at him and played with the collar of his shirt. It was light blue and his t-shirt underneath was navy. "You wear an awful lot of blue, you know."

"See, then I guess it's my favorite color," he said dismissively.

"It makes your eyes even more noticeable and intense," she complimented drawing her finger down the salt and pepper of his jaw line.

He rolled those very baby blues in self-deprecation and sat up unceremoniously, leaving her draped over his lap. "That's such horse shit," he huffed in disbelief.

Surprised at his insecurity over his looks, Remy sat up and shifted positions to straddle his lap and look into his eyes. "Oh come on! Half the women in the hospital are gaga over your dreamy blue eyes."

"Those would be the ones in the coma ward," he said, letting his head loll back against the cushion of the sofa as he brought his one hand up to rest casually on her hip.

Remy pouted at him and playfully ran her hands up his chest to come to a stop around the back of his head. "You don't seriously think that this thing you got going on here isn't roguishly sexy? You're kidding me right?"

He shook his head in denial. "_This_ is me not giving a crap about style, grooming, whatever… I hate it all."

Remy snorted a disbelieving laugh. "You are so full of shit. You know exactly how much this whole rumpled get-up makes you look like a badass. You know _exactly_ how sexy it makes you."

He flashed her a brilliant smile and bucked his hips a little to force her to fall forward onto his chest. "Worked on you didn't it?"

Remy bit her bottom lip between her front teeth. "It sure did."

His one hand came around the back of her neck pulling her in for a kiss while his other one that had been resting on her hip slid up her back to press her to him. As soon as he touched her, her whole body liquefied into his arms as his tongue slipped into her mouth and danced effortlessly with hers. She was glad they could still kiss because if she had to give this up, all bets would be off. She'd be his Vicodin, his mystery, whatever. She didn't care. His kisses were exquisite, fabulous mind-blowing ecstasy. No one in the world kissed as good as him. He was perfection. That was for damn sure and no psychiatrist was going to keep her from kissing this man as much as she wanted, anytime she wanted.

Threading her hands into his coat, she pushed at the dark wool to urge him to take it off. She chuckled deep in the back of her throat as he ignored her and pursued her further by intensifying the kiss. When his lips moved to her jaw line and down the ridge to the soft spot behind her ear, she moaned in pleasure at the magic of his lips on her skin. "Why don't you take your coat off and stay a while?" He brought his mouth back to her lips before stealing her breath and moving to the other side. "Because, don't we have a lot to talk about?" she uttered distracted by his ministrations. "There's so much ground to cover and we only got to our favorite color…"

He laughed then, the deep sound rumbling through his chest and into hers. "This is going to take forever because _you_ are a severe distraction Remy Hadley."

Remy pulled back in surprise and a little bit of shock. "You know my real name?" It was a stupid question, of course he knew her real name, but still… he used it. In three years, he had never actually spoken her real name to her. Ever.

His smile softened and he ran his hand underneath her hair, letting the length slip silently over his knuckles. "If we're going to get to know the real us, we should use each other's names, right?" he said to her. "Hi Remy, my name is Greg."

Remy's heart fluttered in her chest. He was committed to this, body and soul and that touched her more than she could have ever expected. "Hi, Greg."


	10. Chapter 10

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 10

Two weeks had gone by since House and Remy agreed to become a monk and a nun, together in a relationship that clearly defied God's natural plan for a man and a woman of consenting age. House was starting to chafe. He really needed to get some hand lotion or something, otherwise he'd have just a nub left by the time they actually evolved back to having sex again.

At work, they had fallen into an easy rhythm. Essentially it was ignore each other until no one was around and then they'd give each other a wink, a smile or sneak a fleeting little touch. During differentials, she'd throw out some good ideas and some not so good ones. He'd shoot her down or take her side depending on who pissed him off more. She teased him and he ridiculed her. She'd pretend to be annoyed and he'd sexually harass her. It was normal, pretty much just like every other day they spent at work for the last three years.

At home, that was a completely different story. They spent a lot of time together. Some of it was spent out to dinner after work. Sometimes he would cook for her at the apartment with Wilson. They spent a lot of nights playing video games, but occasionally they would go to the movies. Others they would lie on her couch and just talk. He found out that she wouldn't eat anything that swam in the ocean and that she had a favorite doll named Lucy when she was a girl, but it was porcelain and broke one day in her driveway. Her six-year-old self was devastated, but he could hear the sorrow of it still in her voice when she told the story. He had told her about living in Egypt and Okinawa and that the one thing he couldn't stand to eat besides pickles was coconut.

In his latest session with Nolan, the psychiatrist had suggested that they start participating in things that each other had liked to do prior to becoming a couple. This was a dicey prospect for House since he was of the mindset that if he wasn't interested in it, he just didn't do it. Remy was a little more open to suggestion. After some persuasion, and some serious kissing blackmail, House caved like a fat kid who had been deprived of cake for a month and a half.

They were at yoga.

How in the world she talked a guy with one and a half legs into a yoga class was simply beyond him. It must have been his nub doing the thinking because the allure of her mystique had convinced him that this might actually be a good idea for him. She had assured him he'd gain some flexibility, maybe the power to empty his mind and all sorts of other salacious bribes like seeing tight, perky, yoga-toned asses in cotton lycra directly at his eye level. But he was dubious about his ability to actual participate. He didn't want to make an ass of himself. Crippled guy in a yoga class was an oxymoron of grand proportions.

Remy had spoken to her yoga instructor the week before and the woman suggested they try couples yoga. It was slower paced and more about stretching than rigorous standing poses like she was used to in her 'hot' yoga class, whatever that was. He wasn't comfortable but he wanted to see her naked sometime in the near future so it was worth a try.

So far, the only tight yoga ass he'd had the pleasure of seeing was the longhaired dude in front of them. The guy breathed like he was a snorting bull and his partner had spindly legs and arms like one of those spiders from that crazy Harry Potter forest. Her jet-black, stick straight hair and crepe skin added to the whole Morticia Addams effect and House had to force himself not to look at her otherwise he'd burst out laughing. Remy had already warned him to be on his best behavior so he figured he was one point over par already, he didn't want to push his luck. They were supposed to be centering. It was the first pose of the class and House was doomed.

He and Remy sat back to back on the floor of the dimly lit studio. They were in a crossed legged position and their hands were loosely linked by their sides. The yoga instructor, maybe her name was Mary, circulated around them and spoke in a soothing gentle voice. "Give each other a moment to set aside any plans, stresses or concerns that the day has brought. Begin to feel your own breath, slow, calm and deep. See if you can feel your partner's breath as you ground yourself to one another. If you can, gently work on bringing your inhalation into sync with their exhalation. Be mindful of each other's presence and calmly aware of any feelings that it might bring, appreciating the positive and seeing through the negative."

"Does that mean that I should embrace the fact that I can feel your ass cheeks pressed up against mine as a positive thing," he whispered back to her.

"Yes. Shhh," she replied quietly. She was very into this. As soon as they crossed the threshold to the yoga studio, a quietness came over her. She moved differently, the rhythm of her breathing changed. She was serene and peaceful. It was a fascinating transformation.

House rolled his eyes. He was bored already. All they were doing was breathing. In and out, in and out. Inspiration and expiration. The respiration cycle consisted of air entering the nasal cavity, traveling into the maxillary sinuses, into the pharynx, through the larynx, down the trachea. Once the air hit the lungs it entered the main bronchi, then into smaller bronchial tubules, through even smaller bronchioles, and into the microscopic alveolus. The diaphragm moved downwards increasing the volume of the thoracic cavity, and the intercostal muscles pulled the ribs up thereby expanding the rib cage. This was how you could actually _feel_ your partner's breathing. The expansion and contraction of the thoracic cavity and rib cage as the exchange of oxygen into carbon dioxide occurred. Simple human biology. Nothing really transforming or bonding about it.

"Now that we are grounded, rooted and bound to each other through our breath, we are going to gently move into our next pose," the woman announced in her calm tones. "Link your arms together by your elbows." House felt Remy's arms come through his wrapping around the crook of his elbows. The movement pulled him upright and her head, with its high ponytail, pressed against the back of his neck. It felt a little awkward at first but then as she bent forward, she pulled him into a backbend that stretched rather nicely across his chest. They repeated the move, this time with him bending forward stretching her over the curve of his back. _Ok, not so bad_. He could handle this.

They engaged in a series of poses similar to this, back to back, moving in tandem. They bent to the side, to the other side and then twisted around each other like a seated Maypole. It was time to face each other. Still seated, they placed the soles of their feet together and held onto each other's hands. One pulled while the other bent forward. She went down first laying her torso out over her legs. She bent in half like she was hinged at the hips; he actually had to bend his arms to stretch her out far enough. There was no way he'd be able to bend that far.

It was his turn next. Sitting up and re-centering herself, she reached forward and grabbed onto his hands. She blinked her eyes at him to see if he was ready, when he nodded, she pulled him forward. He moved all of two inches before he was stuck and a tightness at the back of his thighs screamed at him. "Whoa, hamstrings…" he complained. She smiled at him and just held onto his hands gently pulling him a little further. "And calves… and soles of my feet."

"Shhh," she hushed. "Just breathe."

"I am breathing," he told her. "You can't forget to breathe."

"Uh huh," she murmured with an amused smile.

They next repeated the process with their legs spread apart. Once again, she was able to lay herself out flat on the floor while he moved, possibly less than two inches this time. He had never before felt such pain in his inner thighs. And once again she told him to breathe.

That torture finally over, they moved closer, placing the soles of their own feet together in the butterfly and sitting so that their knees almost touched.

They linked arms and he began to pull her forward. She kept going and going and going until her face was practically planted in his crotch. House looked around furtively to see if other couples were in the same predicament. Sure enough, it looked like a blowjob convention. He choked on a laugh and leaned forward a bit.

"I thought we were coming here to avoid your face near my junk. If I knew we'd wind up in this position, I'd have said let's just stay home and do this naked," he whispered.

He could hear her let out a little laugh against the mat as she turned her head to the side to look at him with one crystal blue eye. "Shut up and roll with it."

What's her name, Maria or something, came over behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. He narrowed his eyebrows in a scowl. Normally people, especially strangers, didn't touch him. All sorts of social boundaries were broken in yoga, he supposed. "Couples yoga is about trust, Greg," she spoke tranquilly. "We must be open to our partner, willing to receive and give in turn. Let go of the preconceived notions and you will be thankful for the fruits of your labors."

House stared back at the woman. He knew his mouth had to be hanging open in either utter confusion or condescension, he wasn't really sure. He took in a breath about to speak, when Remy discreetly pinched his hand. She peered up at him with that one eye and he snapped his mouth shut, hanging his head on the unleashed comeback. She took the wind right out of his sails and he was left there with nothing to do but press her knees down to ground her as they were instructed to switch.

Rising, she helped him forward, gently caressing his arms as she brought him into the bend. It wasn't really a bend for him, more like a slight forward incline. He was stuck again at about two inches from starting position.

"Breathe," she told him calmly looking into his face.

"You know, this is actually very good for you," he said. "It works to stabilize your core muscles and provides you with flexibility. All of which are good to hold off the chorea."

"I know. Shhh," she shushed him again. "Just breathe."

"I am breathing," he grumbled.

"You're talking," she said. "You're supposed to empty your mind of the senseless chatter. Thoughts come in and then go out, without actually coming out of your mouth. You can't breathe if you're talking."

House rolled his eyes. "That's a physical impossibility. You have to breathe when you talk, the air vibrates over your vocal chords…"

Remy grabbed his lips and clamped them shut with her fingers. "Hush. I come here to silence my mind from your endless dialogue I hear all day. So do us both a favor and just breathe, without the commentary."

House was silenced. They did one more pose on the floor and then it was time to move to the standing, 'energizing' poses. This was where it got really difficult for him. Not only couldn't he stop thinking about random shit, but he found these poses to be very strenuous. Of course, Margaret modified them to accommodate his leg, which really wasn't all that difficult. They used blocks and a chair with some blankets on it to support his weight. Even with the props, he was sweating. A lot. These poses were kicking his ass. On more than one occasion when Remy reminded him to breath did he actually find himself holding his breath. Breathing was an involuntary process; people shouldn't have to be reminded to breathe. But sure enough, he had stopped breathing, repeatedly. This yoga stuff was hard and complicated and he found himself relying on her for support both physically and emotionally. In a couple of poses, he really did have to trust her and that was a new concept for him. To rely on someone else to support his body weight was interesting.

It was also highly sexual. Some of the poses had them rubbing right up against each other in their naughty places. Currently, they were in something called the standing camel. Their hips were joined, their arms were linked while they leaned backward like their torsos were the drooping limbs of the weeping willow. His penis hadn't been this close to her in days and he had to think about his med school mnemonics to occupy his brain, otherwise he'd be pitching a tent and poking her in the eye. _Sperm pathway through male reproductive tract - SEVEN UP: Seminiferous tubules, Epididymis, Vas deferens, Ejaculatory duct, Nothing, Urethra, Penis. _

Penis… stop thinking about the penis. That was his problem in the first place. _Remember idiot, breathe._

_Descending abdominal aorta branches from diaphragm to iliacs, "Prostitutes Cause Sagging Swollen Red Testicles (in men) Living In Sin": Phrenic (inferior), Celiac, Superior mesenteric, Suprarenal (middle), Renal, Testicular ("in men" only), Lumbars, Inferior mesenteric, Sacral… _

Yeah, thinking about testicles wasn't going to help him either. Breathe.

As what was left of the muscles in his thigh started to ache, he shifted his hand to her forearm so he could hold on better… _Arms, think about arms, completely less sexual_. _ Anterior forearm muscles: superficial group "Pimps Fuck Prostitutes For Fun": Pronator teres, Flexor carpi radialis, Palmaris longous, Flexor carpi ulnaris, Flexor digitorum superficialis…_

That wasn't helping. _Why were all the mnemonics sexual in nature_? Drunk, horny college kids, that's why. God, he was so fucked.

Finally, they were upright. "_Certain Doctors Luv Saddling Coeds_," he voiced accidentally out loud. She arched an eyebrow at him and he gave her a chagrined smirk, "Vertebrae subtypes."

She smiled at him. "Cervical, Dorsal, Lumbar, Sacrum, Coccyx." She inched closer to him, "You should think about baseball. All of the mnemonics are perverted."

"Sure, baseball. I can't get past first base and you want me to contemplate hitting a ground rule double to drive in a run," he grumbled in her ear. "Yeah, that'll keep me from thinking about how I'm not allowed to hit a homerun."

She chuckled a bit and stepped away from him. He shook himself and let out a deep breath from his lips. Her skin was dewy and slightly flushed in the bare parts underneath her thin-strapped tank top. The clear royal blue accented the slight tan of her skin and the tight pants she wore rode low on her hips exposing her taut abdomen right underneath the indent of her belly button. She was sweaty and gorgeous and it was all he could do to control himself.

"Now we will move thoughtfully into our restorative poses," Marianne announced in her dulcet voice. "Take your partner's hand and gently guide each other to the floor." She moved quickly over to them. "Remy, be sure to support Greg as he comes down to his knees. And you trust her to be there for you."

House latched onto her delicate wrists and lowered himself to the floor grinning at her as he went. Finally, he was face to face with a tight yoga toned ass, for the most part anyway. Her tiny little belly button was at his eye level and he couldn't help himself so he pressed a kiss to it. She let out a surprised little gasp and dropped her hands to his head. "Greg!"

"Oh that's alright," Marlene expressed. "Couples yoga is about connection and bringing unity to the individual spirit. Greg is showing how his bond has deepened to be able to express how he feels in a safe and intimate way."

"Yes, Remy, I'm expressing just how deeply I want to be bound to you right now," he play acted holding onto her hips and looking up at her with puppy dog eyes. "Locked, just like a key in a hole."

She smirked down at him, knowing full well he was mocking the process with his double entendre. Shaking her head, she knelt in front of him bring her arms around his neck. "Yes, like a sword in a sheath. Or a hand in a glove. Or maybe even a finger in frosting. Just ready to lick…"

"Ok, we get the picture," he cut off her teasing with a frustrated grumble. She was such a minx. And he loved it. But just not here with Madeline hovering over their shoulder.

They came into position for one of their last poses. It was called child's pose. Miriam had him kneel behind Remy as she folded herself into the true arrangement, curled up like a little ball forehead facedown on the floor, arms stretched out over her head. "Now, Greg, you are going to get as close to Remy as you can and place your hands flat on her sacrum," the guru instructed, showing him how to lay his palms. "Now, lovingly caress all of the stress from her body upward and out, as you move forward and come to lay your chest over her spine."

House looked at the woman for a minute. "I'm going to lay on top of her?" he questioned. "How's she going to breathe?"

Muriel chuckled at him. "Don't worry, she will be fine," she assured him. "Normally we do this the other way, with you spine to spine, arcing over her, but for you, I think this is better. Plus it's more intimate."

"Great," he muttered. The front of his hips were pushed right up against her beautiful backside. If they got any more intimate, he'd need a condom.

Maxine placed her hands over his from behind, guiding him upward until he was about half way overtop and then stepped out of their demented three-way and supervised.

"Gently slide your hands all the way to meet hers, finishing with your palms on top of hers," she told him. He could feel Remy's ribcage expand and contract beneath him as she flipped her hands over to meet his.

"Now Remy, turn your head to the side and Greg gently rest your head on hers and just breathe."

House had to take in an inhale and exhale purposefully because he had forgotten to breath again. This felt nice. Thankfully, Meredith left them to their own devices and went to interject herself into another couple's private moment. "Am I crushing you?" he asked in a whisper, since her ear was directly under his jaw.

"Nope," she reassured him and he could feel her smile beneath him.

"How is your leg?"

"It's fine," he said.

"Are you having fun?"

"I like _this_," he admitted. "The rest wasn't bad."

"Would you want to do it again?" she asked him curiously.

"If I can walk tomorrow, then we'll see," he told her. It wouldn't be so bad if they did this again. He got to touch her openly in public and the whole thing was kind of an interesting experience.

House closed his eyes and just stilled for a moment. He reminded himself to breathe in deeply and slowly. He could smell the essence of her perfume mingling with the fresh scent of her perspiration and the shampoo in her hair. _If there was a scent that he had to fill his lungs with, it would be this._

Slowly they came out of the pose and switched but it wasn't as cool of a feeling because she was doing the backbend over top of him. Her flexibility astounded him. He was proud that she had taken such care of herself and was glad because it really was beneficial for her. If anything, he would do this with her again because of that.

The class came to a close and they dressed warmly in their sweatshirts and coats before getting ready to go outside into the cold night air.

"Greg, you did wonderfully tonight," Miranda complimented graciously. "The more you work your flexibility, the more you will be able to quiet your mind and center, gaining a richness from the experience."

Remy stepped forward and took the woman's hand in hers. "Thank you so much, Margot. It was an amazing class."

_Margot! Her name was Margot!_ House muttered a shy thanks and followed Remy outside. "Well, that was different," he said not really knowing what else to say.

Remy linked her arm in his and gave him a squeeze. "Thank you for enduring that with me."

He shrugged. "It wasn't terrible."

"Margot's right you know," she told him. "It would be good for your mind be still for a little while."

"Yeah, that's never gonna happen," he said doubtfully.

"You never know," she told him optimistically. "Plus the exercises would be good for you. Do you know that Margot is seventy?"

"What? Bullshit!" House stopped dead in his tracks. "She's not a day over forty-five. Fifty-five, maybe."

Remy laughed. "Seriously. She's seventy. That's the benefit of yoga."

"And here I thought it was to 'build trust and open connection to your partner'," he paraphrased sarcastically.

Chuckling, she threaded her arm through his again and resumed walking to her car. "Yeah, that too. I bet if you tell Nolan what we were doing, he'd find it extremely beneficial."

"Probably," he agreed begrudgingly. His stomach grumbled and he had an idea. "Want to go for a caramel macchiato and a warm brownie?"

"Oh, most definitely, sir." She giggled and pressed her head against his shoulder. "People can bond over warm gooey chocolate too!"


	11. Chapter 11

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 11

Remy went into the living room and sat on the couch, stuffed from dinner. House had cooked an amazing Asian pork dish with brown rice. She was in love with his cooking, at least that much was for sure. Things had been going really well between them. They had spent a lot of quality time together in the last three weeks or so since they stopped having sex and she was ironically happy. He seemed content, as well. It wasn't like they didn't miss it; they just didn't seem to need it. That was definitely an interesting and different concept for her, and she suspected for him, as well.

What was also interesting was the fact that he was a homebody, a complete and total couch potato. He liked to just be at home and watch TV and play his music or video games. They had gone to her yoga class last week as part of the things she liked to do, which she totally was amazed at. He was such a good sport and even agreed to go again later in the week. She had ducked, fearing the rain of frogs and hell fire but he was agreeable and she wasn't going to do anything to rock that boat. Oddly though, they had yet to really go out and do anything that he liked to do. She was fine with the being at home and vegging part, but they were supposed to be exploring parts of who they were before they became a 'them'. She was more than glad he was willing to experience her things, but she wondered what else he liked to do in his free time. It had always been a curiosity for her even way back when she'd first met him. Of course from what he'd told her about his childhood, he already had about three lifetimes worth of experiences to draw from. Maybe now that he was older, he was content to just stay put.

Remy rested her arm on the back of the couch and laid her head on her arm just watching House and Wilson in the kitchen clearing the dishes. She shook her head and laughed. They really were like a married couple. They bickered and teased and pushed each other's buttons. But for as much as they argued, there was a strong caring there. It was obvious that their friendship ran very deep to have survived the crazy shit that had gone down between them. Right now however, they were fighting about whether or not to rinse the plates before putting them into the dishwasher. Strangely enough, Felix was not the anal retentive one about it, it was Oscar. He took his cooking and kitchen stuff very, very seriously. It was adorable.

Finally, the two of them were done and they joined her in the living room. House immediately went for the controller to the PS3 and Wilson groaned in discontent as he sat on the comfortable leather chair to the side of the sofa.

"Can we please not have an _Ultimate Fight_ tournament tonight?" Wilson complained. "There's a movie on television I'd like to see."

House turned and made a face at him. "TiVo it."

"I can't," Wilson objected. "You have it full of that ridiculous 'Say Yes, to the Dress' marathon."

"No I don't!" House nailed him with a glare.

Remy raised her eyebrows and he turned away from her glance to glare even more harshly at Wilson. Pursuing her lips, she bit back an amused giggle.

"Uh, yeah you do," Wilson persisted not caring about outing House's girly laundry. "Besides, aren't you two supposed to be going out on actual dates?"

"We are," House protested lamely. "This is a an economy busting 'stay-date'."

"He tried yoga last week," Remy tossed in there to defend him.

"I know," Wilson said in amazement. "Congratulations, you are the only woman to ever achieve such a miraculous feat."

"I'm sent from divinity," Remy joked. "I possess magical powers."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "That may be true but it's also a testament to just how bad he wants to have sex with you again."

"Please, you'd bend yourself inside out and into a pretzel to have sex with her again too," House grumbled as he popped the game disk into the consol.

Remy laughed self-consciously. It was strange talking about her sex life with such candor as if they were talking about the weather.

"Um… still in the room," she reminded them with a little wave of the hand. Only Wilson really looked apologetic about her discomfort. House was busy getting out the other controllers.

"So what have you done that falls into your realm of 'likes' besides sit on the couch and hog up the TV?" Wilson threw at him as he rounded the coffee table.

"You're looking at it," House sat down next to her and patted her thigh with his hand.

"This is not the _only_ thing you like to do," Wilson objected.

"It's the only thing I _can_ do now," he complained. "Strippers work in places called _bars_. And bars have all sorts of bad things I'm not allowed to do anymore."

"That's not the only thing you used to do," Wilson declared. He gave Remy a look and shook his head in frustration. "You like bowling."

Remy brought her eyes to House. Tipping his head, he made a face considering this for a moment. "This is true," he admitted.

"Why don't you go bowling?" Wilson suggested.

"Bowling sounds like fun," Remy agreed excitedly. "I haven't been bowling since college."

"Seriously?" he asked looking at her sideways.

"No, wait… there was this one time I went to all day naked bowling extravaganza… yes, seriously." Remy rolled her eyes and then laughed when he actually looked disappointed that such a thing didn't exist. "Come on, Greg, let's go bowling. I think it'd be fun."

He shrugged and put the controller on the table. "I guess we could do that," he said. "I get like a twenty point handicap for the handicap."

Remy chuckled and got up off the couch. "Oh you have nothing to worry about. I suck at it. You could beat me with two bad legs and a blind fold."

"Oh fabulous!" He held out his hand to her for leverage off the sofa and stood up. Coming up to his full height, he gave her a peck on the lips and then turned to Wilson. "Why don't you come with?"

"I'm going to watch my movie," he declined.

"Come on, I bet 3B would like to go. She seems to want your hot beef injection," he taunted.

Wilson nodded his head in consideration. "You think I should ask her?"

"Why not?" Remy said. "The worst she can say is 'no'."

"Stop being a wuss," House pestered him. "Man up, and go ask her. The movie's probably gay anyway."

Wilson stood. "It's no gayer than eight hours of "Say Yes to the Dress"," he grumbled, tucking the tails of his shirt into his pants.

"Hey, those women go to Kleinfeld's because those people know how to make a little girl's dream come true," House argued. Remy laughed at his secret inner girl coming through. Before he was embarrassed about it, now he was wearing it like a badge of honor. He really was too cute.

A half an hour later they were at the bowling alley with 3B. Her name was Nora and she was a bit older than Remy, maybe a little closer to Wilson's age and also very pretty. Wilson was smitten. She seemed nice and a hell of a lot more like Wilson's speed than Amber ever was. It was nice to actually see Wilson getting out there and trying.

"This is the first date he's been on since… you know," House whispered to her as they put on their rented bowling shoes. If and when he did talk about it, he still couldn't really say Amber's name since his hallucinations. She understood. It was a weird thing.

"She seems like a nice woman," Remy whispered back. "Cute too. Tight little ass."

He waggled his eyebrows at her; his eyes alight with a sparkling blue glitter. "If you feel the overwhelming need to kiss her, I'd be ok with that."

Remy giggled and flashed a smile at him. "A couple of drinks and I just might," she teased and then sashayed away in search of a lightweight ball. She could hear him groan as she walked away from him, giving him a show, because she knew how much he liked her own tight little ass in these jeans.

Remy found a day-glo orange one that fit her fingers and was light enough that she'd be able to throw it. Whether it would actually be able to make it down the alley to hit the pins was another matter. When she came back, House made a comment. "Find your kiddie ball ok?"

Remy flicked an eyebrow at him. "Don't even start or the handicap is right out the window."

"I love it when you get sassy." He chuckled and hooked his arm around her waist pulling her in for a kiss.

Nora smiled at them and placed her neon pink ball into the ball return. "You know, I have to admit that I kind of thought you and James were… a couple," she said bringing her eyes sheepishly between House and Wilson.

"You mean you thought we were…" Wilson couldn't even bring himself to say it.

House laughed. "Oh we are. We just have a very open relationship, don't we Jimmy-cakes."

Wilson scoffed in embarrassment. "House!"

Remy snorted a chuckle and hit House's arm. "Don't listen to him, Nora," Remy told her. "Greg has _O.L.D._ …" When Nora looked at her in confusion, Remy clarified. "Obsessive lying disorder."

"Shit, you're the one who really _is gay_," House tossed at her. "And has I.E.P.... I eat…"

"HOUSE!" Wilson reprimanded in mortal humiliation, cutting him off before he got to the really vulgar part of his comment. They played off of each other like fire and gasoline. And House just couldn't help himself.

Remy leaned into him and scrunched her nose up at him. "I think you're afflicted with that too," she said to him under her breath.

He blinked at her and grinned. "Num, num." Remy had to press her knuckles to her mouth and turn away from him; the look in his eye was turning her on. It had been three weeks but it didn't take much to remember what his tongue was capable of. Shaking herself, she glanced over at Nora who looked a little bewildered at her new companions casually loose social mores. They were being the annoying, embarrassing couple, but there was a part of her that simply just didn't care.

"Could you two please dial it back a little bit," Wilson pleaded. Ever the pragmatist, he flattened his palms out in the air and made a gesture of finality. "Let's just bowl."

House sat down at the console and put the names into the computer screen, Nora, Wilson, Remy then him. Remy turned to Wilson's date and suggested, "Nora, why don't we go to the bar and get some drinks?"

"Sure that sounds like a good idea," the older woman agreed.

Remy smiled at her as they walked over to the bar area. "You have to take Greg with a grain of salt. He likes to… push the envelope, so to speak."

Nora laughed and waved her hand dismissing Remy's explanation. "I'm getting that impression."

They ordered their drinks. Remy got a diet soda and a regular for House, while Nora ordered cosmos for both her and Wilson. They sat patiently on the stools while they waited for the bartender to fix their drinks. "So how long have you and Greg been together?" Nora asked conversationally.

"Um, almost a month," she quick calculated in her mind. _Wow, had it really gone that fast?_ In another few days it will have been a full month since Christmas.

"A month, that's all?" Nora asked her, an expression of mild shock on her lovely face. "You two seem like you've been together for quite a while."

Remy smiled and slid her eyes to her. "We've worked together for three years."

Nora raised her eyebrows in understanding. "Oh. I see."

"I mean it's not…" Remy paused and then smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, it's exactly like that," she admitted with a chuckle.

The older woman shrugged. "When you love someone, does it really matter where you met?"

Remy blinked at her and shook her head. "It's only been a month…"

Nora smiled at her perceptively. "Of course," she replied. "I understand." There was an undercurrent of disbelief to her voice and Remy was a little unsure about what kind of thoughts that brought to the forefront of her mind. She had been reserving judgment on anything deeply emotional until House was certain he didn't want to just be with her because she was his latest addiction. Love was not part of their equation yet. Thankfully their drinks came to waylay that train of thought. Everybody's was in a plastic cup, sodas and cosmos alike.

With a chuckle, Nora held up her milky clear cups dimming the amber liquid. "Nothing like a backyard cosmo, huh?"

Remy smiled. "I'm assuming it's the whole broken glass on the alley thing. Bowling can get pretty heated, I guess."

"I guess we'll find out," Nora said with an eager shrug.

They made their way back to the alley where the guys were waiting. Wilson was polishing his ball with a rag from his bag and House was slumped in the seat behind the consol, waiting for them to return. Remy liked the bowling shirt he had changed into before they left. It was so completely him, black with pin-up girls in different sexy poses and little red starbursts going down the two side panel inserts on the front. The dark color against his skin make his eyes stand out even more and the v opening at his neck showed just enough skin to make Remy's pulse quicken every time he moved. It was distinctly sexy and she wanted to just bite him.

When she approached him, he sat up and positioned her to sit on his good leg as they waited for their turn. She liked being close with him. He smelled so good and felt so enticingly warm. His hand slipped around her waist and under the hem of her shirt to gently trace invisible patterns on her skin. They were becoming more and more comfortable together, apparently enough that Nora had assumed they'd been together for a while… and were in love. Remy wasn't too sure about that assessment. Extreme 'like' maybe, but 'love', she didn't know. Love was a powerful admission. She felt close to him. She had intense feelings for him and she was willing to do what it took to be with him. Was that love? She had no idea. But, whatever it was, she needed to be careful because he was still extremely vulnerable and uncertain about his own feelings. And rightfully so. He was exploring a new way of thinking that he hadn't allowed himself to experience in a decade, maybe more. He was a recovering drug addict and had spent time in a mental ward. And she was dying. They had issues. A whole Oprah Show's worth of them. She wasn't going to allow herself to fall in love with him if he was just going to turn around and decide that this wasn't for him. She hadn't loved Foreman and it still hurt like a bitch when it ended. Loving House would be far more painful than that. That was for certain. But for now, she was just in the moment. That was all either one of them could really expect.

True to form Remy sucked at bowling. She had more gutter balls than she did anything that went all the way down the alley. Once she got a spare but that was completely by accident. She tapped one pin with the edge of the ball and then it just happened to roll in the direction of the other four that were still standing. House sucked too, but was surprisingly good for someone with the physical handicap he had. Nora was the triumphant one of the bunch, to Wilson's pleasure and surprise. They had shared a few hugs by the end of the night and quick victory peck on the lips as their backyard cosmos did their job of making their boundaries squish into a loose interpretation of first date propriety. It was cute, and House was happy to see Wilson happy, even if he did mock him to cover it up.

Remy drove the crew back to the apartment building. Wilson and Nora got out at the curb to give her and House privacy to say good night. He leaned over and touched his hand to her face. Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her with an edge of passion that made her stomach flutter in anticipation. _Good God, she loved to kiss him_.

"I had fun tonight," she told him when he broke the kiss.

"Bowling is fun," he agreed.

"I'm in early tomorrow to take the patient for the biopsy," she said.

Sitting back against his seat, he nodded and tapped his cane on the floor. He looked like he wanted to say something but he shook it off and remained silent.

"I'll text you with the results," she said next.

"Okay," he replied. "I'll be in around nine."

"Good," she said. Suddenly things felt a little awkward and she couldn't help but wonder if it was because of what Nora had said. Shaking her head she pushed it off. He was the one who got quiet, not her. She had been _way_ over-analyzing. Wasn't she?

He sat in silence for a few moments and then took a breath. "Do you want me to bring you one of those brownies from Starbucks in the morning?"

Remy smiled. "Sure, and a chai latte?"

He smiled at her and then placed a sweet kiss on her lips. "Whatever you want."

"Okay." She kissed him back and he opened the door to get out.

"Good night, Rem."

"Good night, Greg."

They touched fingers for a minute and then he left to enter the building. Turning the car back on, Remy drove into traffic.

They were fine.

Things were moving at their own pace.

Glacially slow, but at their own pace.

She had always been patient with him right from the beginning. This would be no different.

_

* * *

A/N: As always, a special thanks to my hommies Spot and Punk and Vanamo for helping me iron out the tangle of my thoughts. I so wouldn't be able to do this without you. _

_And Help! I think I may have an obsession with House/Thirteen. Who am I kidding, I know I do. I'm finding teeny tiny little moments in episodes that tell me there is a thing brewing between them… Vanamo thinks I've gone around the bend but I swear, it's Fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. Thouse will emerge and I will be the happiest woman alive! I even found one in the Cuddy-soide…they were sitting next to each other in the second meeting in the auditorium. It was minor, not as glaringly obvious as the dance from last week which had the Fox broads, oops I mean boards, all in a tizzy! I will forever hold the torch!_


	12. Chapter 12

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 12

The aromas from the kitchen were making House's stomach growl in appreciation for his current obsession. He really did enjoy cooking. The science part of it made it tangible for him, but there was a surprisingly creative side to it, that he didn't really know he had. He liked experimenting with the different flavors, seeing what went well with exotic things like cardamom and chipotle. He also liked to see which things Remy liked and didn't like. The majority of the time she loved everything he made. Once he cooked something with mushrooms and that didn't go over well. At all. Apparently after her mother got sick, her father did a lot of the cooking. He made everything a casserole with cream of mushroom soup. She swore the only mushrooms she'd ever eat again were the psychedelic kind. So, he made a mental note to never buy mushrooms again.

Tonight he was making _Lo Stinco di Vitello_, veal shin roast with juniper berries, dry white wine and fresh rosemary. They'd have a side of chive and butter fingerling potatoes and green beans almandine. Not a mushroom in sight. Maybe they'd even drink the rest of the wine… and then… who knows?

The door to the loft opened and Wilson entered with his briefcase and overcoat over his arm.

"What smells so incredible," he asked tiredly coming into the kitchen.

"Umm… a romantic dinner… for two," House said leaning his hands on the counter. Wilson peered back at him with a putout frown. House shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, I'm going to need the place tonight."

"Aren't you supposed to not be having 'romantic dinners for two'?" he asked setting his briefcase onto the center island and going to the fridge for a bottle of water.

House shrugged and continued to snap off the tips of the fresh green beans. "It's been a fucking month without any actual fucking. I think I'm well overdue."

Wilson sipped his water. "Did Nolan sign off on it?"

"I don't need Nolan to tell me when to have sex," House objected.

"No, but you want this to work, don't you?" Wilson questioned.

House frowned. "Yes, I want this to work. I've already put off sex for a month. She is way too… beautiful… to keep at an arm's distance for another." Wilson gave him a dubious look. "Just do me this favor, no more questions, please?"

"Fine," he threw his hands up in the air. "I'll call Nora and see if she'd like to go out for dinner and a movie."

"Thank you," House muttered.

Begrudgingly, Wilson smiled then and chuckled, is irritation quickly dissipating. "Don't mention it. I needed an excuse to call Nora anyway."

House looked at him with a smirk. "Take her to _Mediterra_. Tapas and wine. She's a classy broad. She'll like that."

"Yes, thank you. It's been a decade since I've been on a date," he muttered sarcastically. "The hookers usually don't care if they eat actual food. It's been so long, I've forgotten what the classy bimbos like."

"Hey, no need to get snide," House chided. "Just trying to help a brother out."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved and went into his room to change.

Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang and House hobbled over to answer it. He opened the door to see Nora smiling at him. She wore a sexy red wrap dress that hugged her curves and a pair of open-toed pumps. Her light brown hair was down in waves over her shoulders and her make-up was subtle. She looked lovely. If Wilson were actually on his game, she'd be a lamb to slaughter.

"Come on in," he stepped aside to let her enter. "Wilson will be out in a minute. He's just adjusting his toupee."

She chuckled for a second and then looked at him uncertain as to whether he was joking or not. Playing it off, House gave her a 'go figure' shrug and went back into the kitchen. _Was she really that naïve?_ God, he hoped not. She followed him and milled about uncomfortably for a bit before he offered her some wine.

Declining with a wave of her hand, she said, "It's smells delicious in here."

"Veal shin roast with juniper berries and rosemary wine sauce," he explained for her.

Nora's eyes widened and she smiled appreciatively. "Men who cook are very sexy. Remy's a lucky woman."

Nodding his head uncomfortably, House narrowed his eyes and went back to his cooking. It felt odd to have another woman compliment both him and Remy in the same sentence.

Wilson emerged from his room then, freshly showered and dressed in a dark blue dress shirt and a pair of charcoal slacks. "Nora, you look amazing," he gushed and came over to place a chaste kiss on her cheek.

The woman smiled and blushed a little at the attention. "You look handsome yourself."

Wilson's chest puffed up a bit and held his hand out. "Well, shall we?"

Just as they were exiting the apartment, Remy came home. She said hello to Wilson and Nora as the left and came into the kitchen. As soon as House laid eyes on her, he knew something was wrong. He had last seen her around four o'clock before he left the hospital and it was now close to seven. She looked exhausted. Her skin was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes.

He limped over to her and touched both of his hands to her face. "You're sick."

She shook her head weakly. "No I'm not."

He brought the back of his hand to her forehead and felt her skin. It was dry and warm to the touch. "You have a low grade temp." As if on cue, she turned her head away from him and coughed. It was dry and raspy, completely unproductive, and wheezy. "Have you been using your inhaler? You're lips are cracked."

"My asthma's been acting up all day," she said, closing her eyes and letting her head rest in the support of his palms.

"You don't have a fever with just asthma. Where'd you go to med school, the Bahamas?"

She smiled halfheartedly and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Costa Rica actually." The simple talking made her cough hard.

He bent his head to press his ear against her chest where her bronchial tubes were. "Breath in." Sure enough, the airways were tight and he could hear her wheeze. He stood up as she coughed again. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her too him and rubbed his hands up and down her slim back trying to soothe her. "Go into my room, shower and stand in the steam for a while to loosen up that chest. Then I want you to put on some pajamas and a one of my sweatshirts and climb directly into bed. You're done for the night."

"But, you made dinner," she protested.

"But nothing," he argued and smacked her on the ass. "Go, if you're still hungry we'll eat when you're done."

Tired and unable to fight him, she went into his room to listen to doctor's orders. House sighed and placed his hands on his hips as he watched her go. So much for a romantic night… she could barely breathe. There was no way sex was in the equation tonight. _Damn_.

Turning, he went to finish diner while she showered and changed. About a half an hour later she returned with her hair up in a sloppy bun wearing his gray Hopkins lacrosse sweatshirt and a pair of his jammie pants. If she weren't so sick, he'd have jumped her for looking so bedraggled and sexy in his clothes. _Double damn_…

Coughing, a tiny bit looser now from the hot shower, she sat at the dining room table where he had set Wilson's good dishes and some tall white candles. He had actually done all of that before she came home as the incubus for the plague, but it was still a nice touch. She offered to help bring the food to the table but he ordered her to stay put. Placing the plates down, he stuck a match and lit the candles. The sulfur and smoke from the match sent her into a coughing fit, so much so, he had to move the candles away from her and get her a glass of water to help her from choking on her own body's rebellion. He felt bad. He hadn't meant to make her worse.

She pressed her palms to her eye sockets and sighed in frustration. "I'm so sorry."

"What? It's not your fault you have weak lungs and developed Bronchitis," he said and then chuckled. "Well, maybe if you didn't smoke crack for all those years…"

She laughed and wound up in a fit of coughs again. She was starting to bark like a dog and even his chest hurt just listening to her. She must have felt miserable.

"This all looks so wonderful," she told him piercing one of her potatoes with her fork. Her eyes hung at half-mast and she could barely hold her head up. "I love it when you cook for me."

"I like to cook, you like to eat," he shrugged. "Cause and effect. It works out well."

They ate for a while in silence. Actually, he ate and she just kind of picked at her food. Her appetite was gone and she probably couldn't taste anything. It was a shame because the roast was goddamn good, if he did say so himself. The juniper berries gave it a slight taste of gin and he wished he had a glass of it in his hand right now, but alas he did not. Sighing, he watched her as she nibbled on a green bean and then put half of it back onto her plate with a frown. She was completely not herself and her breathing had become labored the more the night wore on. She was as hot mess.

"I'm going to clean up here and then I'm going to the drug store to get you some Levaquin and some serious Prednisone."

"Greg, I'm fine," she argued and then her racking cough proved her completely wrong. She let out a labored sigh and then pouted at him. "Some Tussionex too, please?"

House rose from the table and came over to her to hug her head to his chest. He placed a kiss on the top of her hair. "I promise not to drink it on the way home," he told her. "In case you're worried about that."

The cough medicine had hydrocodone in it, a narcotic cough suppressant along the same lines of Vicodin and oxycodone. He was writing the prescription for her, but as an addict whose drug of choice was opiate painkillers, he really shouldn't be even close to a narcotic like that.

Her hands came up to touch his arms and she squeezed him letting him know she trusted him. "I didn't think you would."

"Go lie down," he told her. "I'll clear the table and start a fire."

She went to the sofa without any protest and covered herself with the blanket his Aunt Sarah had crocheted and sent him for Christmas. It was hideous, but apparently his aunt had gotten on this knitting kick with her church ladies, or so his mother had relayed, and her sister felt the burning need to make him one. Why she thought that puke green and baby blue went together with brown was beyond him. But nevertheless Wilson liked it. He would. So it was on the couch. Evidently Remy liked it too, because she covered her feet with it every time she was over.

After clearing the table, he dialed her prescriptions into the pharmacy down the street and then lit a fire while she half-watched, half-napped an episode of _Friends_ on TBS. He touched his hand to her head and gave her a kiss goodbye as she dozed a little on the couch. Putting on his pea coat, he limped over to where her purse was. He looked back to see if she was still sleeping and then stuck his hand in the compartment where she kept her keys. He figured why not take her Audi if he was doing her a favor by picking up her meds. On his search, he also found some gum there. Taking a fruity stick out, he folded into his mouth and rummage through the rest of the bag out of blatant curiosity. He found her birth control pills, some strawberry lip-gloss, tampons, a brush and a bag of make-up. He also found a Red Bull and a 5-hour energy shot. That, he wasn't thrilled about. She was upping herself on caffeine to make it though the day. She wouldn't drink caffeinated coffee but she would practically mainline it for energy? _Interesting_.

He dug a little further and found a gold wedding band tied to a grungy white ribbon. Without his glasses, it was hard to make out the inscription inside but he assumed it belonged to her mother. He found a few old shopping lists, a mini-book of brainteaser puzzles, making him smile. He flipped through to see that the majority of them were done. And then in the midst of the pages, he found a picture of her sitting on an elephant the size of a small house. Her face was alight with joy and amazement. Fingering the edge of the photo, he thought about how he had canceled her trip. He was selfishly trying to keep her there because he needed her. Little did he know that all it took was a silly little mistletoe and some serious cooking to get her to stay with him. Slipping the photo back into the book, he smiled. He was glad she was stubborn enough to carry out her own desires, because otherwise he would have denied her that amazing opportunity. For once, he was relieved she didn't listen to him.

Leaving her alone, he drove to the pharmacy and parked in the handicapped spot in front. It was quite cold out. Despite the pretentious heated seats in her car, which he did love so much, he was chilled to bone in the two minutes it took to go into the store. Hobbling through the aisles to the back, he placed his hands on the counter and tapped the bell to get the attendant's attention.

"Pick up for Remy Hadley," he told the young woman who came to help him. She went to the rack to search for the bag. Coming up with nothing, she went behind to the scripts being processed. When she had no success there, she returned to the counter and frowned at him.

"When was it called in?" she asked.

"Forty-five minutes ago," he told her. "Dr. Remy Hadley." Maybe the fact that she was a doctor might have more relevance.

"Prescribed by?"

"No, prescribed by Dr. Gregory House _for_ Dr. Remy Hadley," he was beginning to become irritated. _Were all pharmacy techs a pain in the ass?_

"I'll go check," she said.

"Good, you do that," he grumbled and then wandered around the counter area looking at the various "health" items around. Muscle milk, Protein shots, vitamins, ginko biloba.

After a few minutes, the girl came back. "Sir, I'm sorry. It hasn't been processed yet."

"Seriously?" he grumbled. "How long does it take to put ten Levaquin and thirty-six Prednisone in a bottle?"

"We have a back log of prescriptions, sir," she said by way of apology.

"Of course you do," he ground out. "I could have gone to my slow ass pharmacy at Princeton-Plainsboro if I was going to have to wait this long?"

"Are you Dr. House?" the Pharmacist approached from around the corner.

"Yes," he answered the diminutive Asian woman.

"We are currently out of the Levofloxacin," she told him.

"Well, what _do_ you have?"

"Streptomycin and Avelox."

"Give me the Strepto," he said in irritation. He really should have just gone to the hospital. It wouldn't have been a stretch for him to give meds to her. Phil wouldn't have asked questions. He had learned a long time ago not to.

"Ok, Doctor. Just give me fifteen minutes."

"Fine," he muttered and wandered away to keep himself busy. He picked up a bottle of ginseng for her 'energy' issue and decided that he was going to toss the Red Bull and energy shot when he got back home. If she felt fatigued, then she should be using something more natural. Caffeine was not good for her nervous system.

A half an hour later, he was back home and she was still sleeping on the couch. He felt bad about waking her up but he wanted to get the antibiotics and prednisone in her.

"Remy, wake up," he urged sitting on the coffee table with a glass of water and her pills in his hand. He had to shake her a bit because she was out like a light. "Rem, time for medicine…"

She grumbled a bit and rolled onto her back. She opened her eyes, disoriented for a moment, and then smiled at him. She was glad to see him. Somewhere deep down that made him feel really good. But, then she became self-conscious as she looked at the pillow to see a dark stain from her drool. She had been sleeping hard. Dragging her hand across her mouth, she sheepishly sat up. "Shut up," she whined.

"I didn't say anything," he chuckled at her discomfort and handed her the medicine.

"Thank you," she said swallowing the pills and drinking her water down.

"Why don't we head to bed," he suggested clicking off the TV. "You're obviously exhausted."

She grabbed the controller and clicked it back on. "No, it's too early for you to go to sleep."

He rolled his eyes. "It's never to early for me to sleep."

"Greg," she rolled her eyes in return. "You never go to bed before midnight."

He shrugged. "So."

"So, I want to watch you play that cute little game," she said.

"Little Big Planet?"

"Yes, I love that little guy," she told him with an adorable little pout and then a cough. "He's too cute. I'll lay here and you can play."

House snorted a little laugh and rose from the table. Ha, _she_ was too cute with her pouty mouth and her sicky helplessness. And he was a big fat sucker for her full lips no matter whether they were pouting or kissing him. _God, he needed some help_. He popped the game in the console and sat back on the sofa. Immediately, she lay down and placed her head on his good thigh, snuggling against him with Aunt Sarah's ugly blanket.

Her coughing subsided because of the cough suppressant, but occasionally she was racked with a series of coughs that stole her breath from her totally and left her reaching for her inhaler. At one point, he was a little concerned that he might have to take her to PPTH and get her on a nebulizer. Finally, she fell asleep again and he dropped his hand to stroke her hair away from her forehead. He clicked off the TV with the remote and looked down at her lovely face on his lap. His hand smoothed over her brow and he just watched her sleep. For a long, long time.

_

* * *

A/N: Happy belated Valentine's Day to everyone. I actually do have an awesome V-Day coming up but not for another 5 chapters. But oh! Just you wait! _

_Hope all is well in this drought between House episodes. Thank God we have fanfic to survive it. _

_Once again, thank you to Spot and Punk, my ever trusty beta, and to Vanamo, my little brainstorm artist! Cheers!_


	13. Chapter 13

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 13

House stepped off the elevator, a single cup of Starbucks in his hand this morning, because Remy was still at home sleeping in his bed. This was her third day out of work. She was getting better but still couldn't stop wheezing when she went to talk. There was no way she could be around patients like that.

"Where's Remy?" Foreman came up along side of him from down the hallway.

"Who?" House pretended, knowing full well how much it pissed Foreman off when he did that. On cue, the younger doctor rolled his eyes in irritation and placed his hands indignantly on his hips. House rolled his eyes back dramatically. "Oh….you mean Thirteen…" he carried out the fun little game. "Yeah, she be illin'. And I say that with the flyest use of Ebonics, _my nizzle_."

"She's sick?" Foreman's voice grew extremely concerned as he followed him into his office. "What's wrong?"

"Tuberculosis," House said flatly. He rounded the corner to his desk and sat down. Foreman's look grew more worried so House decided to tease him further. He put on a fake pout and wiped a tear from his eye. "The doctors say she only has a few days. That it'll be quick."

"You're an ass. She's been out for three days. What's really wrong with her?"

"She has Bronchitis."

"With her asthma, that's bad. She needs antibiotics, steroids, a nebulizer…"

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes for real. "It's a shame she's doesn't know any doctors," House chipped in sarcastically.

"I should go see her. See if she's got her meds," Foreman hurried to leave.

House grimaced and ran his hand over his the back of his head. He couldn't let him go over to her place because she wasn't there. She was at his and there was no way he was sharing that information. "No. She's good. I brought her the scripts when she called out and couldn't breathe on account of the horrible, wheezing cough."

"_You_ brought them to her?" Foreman doubled back and looked at him quizzically.

_Shit. That was a little slip._ Frowning, House shrugged indifferently. "Yeah. I brought them. She's at the new boyfriend's place. You should see it. 'Big' condo, if you know what I mean." He punctuated his not-so-much-of-a-fib but diversion with a hand gesture and a wink.

Foreman narrowed his eyes and worked his jaw in anger. Just the sheer mention of another man in Thirteen's life pissed him off which was exactly why House wasn't going to let him try to go over and see her. _Save the drama for the Emmy's, he wanted no part of that._ Foreman let out a furious snort and tossed the blue file on House's desk. Apparently, his joke worked to forestall the eager beaver because the very next thing he said had nothing to do with Remy or her Bronchitis. "The patient's BUN and Creatinine levels are rising by the hour. His kidney functions are shutting down."

"MRI his kidneys and get him on dialysis," House told him with a bored sigh. "And have Taub and Chase go see what the wife's been putting in those protein shakes she's been making him every morning. Maybe its more than just protein."

The neurologist looked at him oddly. "You think she's trying to kill him?"

"Have you met the guy?" House balked. "I talked to him for sixty seconds and I wanted to kill him. I can't imagine being married to him for fifteen years."

"You can't imagine being married to anyone for fifteen minutes, let alone fifteen years." Foreman rolled his eyes shook his head turning to go for real this time. "I'm still calling her to see how's she's doing."

House chuckled derisively. _Goddamn, the guy was like a dog with a bone_. "Go ahead, you do that. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear from you."

* * *

"How has yoga been?"

"Bendy."

Nolan sat in his quiet patience. House tried to appear bored.

When Nolan merely frowned at him, House flipped his hands over studying his dry cuticles. "We didn't go this week."

"Why not?" Nolan asked. "Did you do something else?"

"She has Bronchitis," House told him simply.

"Oh. She's sick." The doctor nodded in understanding.

"Yes, that's generally what it means when someone has Bronchitis."

"So you haven't seen her in a few days," Nolan surmised, though incorrectly.

"No, I've seen her every day," House said with a smirk.

"You have?" His round face flew into a look of utter surprise.

"Why does that surprise you?" House asked a little offended by his blatant shock.

"Because, you don't like sick people," Nolan said. "You like diseases."

"She's not just any sick…" House began but then cut himself off and smiled wryly when he realized the meaning of his words and caught Nolan's eyebrows lift up knowingly. Caught. Damn this guy was good. There was never any hiding from him.

"You've been taking care of her?"

"I got her meds. She's been staying at the loft. I made her chicken soup. My mother used to make chicken soup when I was sick as a little boy," House said and then tilted his head to the side quizzically. "Is that some weird Oedipal thing I need to worry about?"

Nolan chuckled. "No. I don't think so." He shifted positions and crossed his fingers together at his knee. "I think you should be more concerned that she's staying with you at the loft."

"Why? She has asthmatic Bronchitis. Her breathing is compromised, especially when she's sleeping," he justified. She needed someone to be there in case she had an attack. _What was the big deal?_

"Sure. If that's the excuse you want to keep telling yourself," Nolan replied.

House shook his head. "We're not having sex. She's in no condition."

"Okay."

"That's it, just okay?"

"Why? Is there something relevant that you want to talk about?"

"No." House shrugged and tapped his fingers on the curve of his cane. He was antsy today, more so that usual. But he was so not in the mood to really look that far into it. He probably just had too much coffee.

"Why does it make you anxious to talk about having sex with her?"

"Why do you think it makes me anxious?" House countered evasively.

"Because you always tap your fingers when we get close to the subject," Nolan pointed out, gesturing his large hand in the direction of House's errant digits.

House looked at his hand and then forcibly stopped his fingers by making a fist. "Ok, so maybe I don't like it because it reminds me that we're not doing it."

"Is that what really frustrates you? That there's no physical release?"

"Oh there's physical release, everyday, sometimes twice," he announced.

"Solo or shared?"

House grimaced and rolled his eyes. "Solo."

"Good," Nolan said.

Blinking in astonishment, House shook his head. "Good? Could you call my mother and tell her that so she can reconcile all the years she continually 'walked' in on me?"

Nolan raised his eyebrows. "A lot of talk about your mother today," he observed. "That's interesting."

House rolled his eyes and scoffed. "There's so nothing relevant about it. I'm just being a wiseass."

"To cover up your true feelings about the Remy situation, I know," he chuckled, backing him into a corner.

"It's difficult. She's gorgeous and hot. She's amazing in bed and I'm a horny toad. I like sex. I miss it," he told him. "That's how I feel about it."

"So you haven't determined anything in the way of your feelings toward her in an emotional capacity? This is still only about physical need?" the psychiatrist pressed. "You are breaking code and taking care of her. I'd say that has some interesting implications."

"Implications about what?" House asked, slightly confused.

"Well, eventually, if you do stay with her, as a partner in a relationship, she will need to be cared for," Nolan said with a caution.

House nodded his head quietly. Yes, this was true. If indeed they were embedded in a real relationship and they stayed together, she would in time deteriorate and need to be taken care of by someone. _Was he capable of doing that?_ He didn't know.

When House didn't say anything, Nolan changed his demeanor. "Let's look at this hypothetically. Say you determine that you do have feelings for Remy. You've built a lasting relationship and then she becomes ill, what will you do?"

House shrugged. "I don't know."

Nolan leveled a look at him. "Come on, don't play me."

He couldn't get past the quandary of how he really felt about her, let alone thinking that far.

"She'll first start with tremors, a labored gait. She'll need neuro drugs to help control the chorea," House listed for him as if he wasn't already aware. "She won't need me to take care of her, per say. She'll still be capable of working, living on her own."

"And when the tremors become unstoppable with neuroleptics and the swallowing becomes involved?"

"I'll start pureeing food, get her an in-home health aid," he said flatly.

"Will she live with you by then?" he asked leaning forward on his elbows.

"Well, this will be five or so years down the road essentially," House said. "I would hope that after five years in a relationship we're a little further than 'sleep-over' dating."

Nolan sat quietly in his seat studying him. He made that frown thing he always did when he was contemplating. Sometimes it made House irritated, others confused. Today, he wasn't really sure how it made him feel. "So, you see yourself possibly making a deeper commitment to her, moving in together, maybe even marriage?"

_Well now, he didn't say that. But… maybe…_ "I guess."

"You lived with Stacey for five years."

"Yes."

"How come you never married?"

"I didn't seem necessary."

"To commit and be bound to someone in marriage? Or was it just her?"

"All marriages suck."

"Not all marriages," Nolan pointed out with false optimism.

House nailed him with a keen look. "You're divorced."

Nolan almost laughed. "My experience with marriage doesn't mean that all marriages don't work. It just means that mine didn't work."

"My experience with marriage means that all marriages don't work," House sated with conviction.

"You have no experience other than being an observer. Doesn't make you an expert or someone experienced enough to pass such a judgment," Nolan contended. "And it still doesn't explain why you would live with someone for five years and not get married."

"After five years… what's the point?"

"You gave her proxy control over your life, that's pretty committed."

"I did and I shouldn't have, in retrospect," his hand swept his leg. "Didn't need a gold band to solidify that mistake." House growled and rolled his eyes. He hated talking about this. "We've been through this before. What does this have to do with Remy?"

"You're involved in a relationship with a woman who is dying from a debilitating disease that will require years of medical care. You'll eventually have to make decisions for her like Stacey did for you. Unless you plan on leaving her when the tremors start, it's important to discuss your commitment level to this." House stared at him, working his jaw in anger. He was questioning his dedication level to her and that annoyed him. He was willing to not have sex with her to see if he truly had feelings for her. He'd say that was pretty committed. "_Do_ you plan on leaving her when her symptoms show?" Nolan pressed.

"No…"

"Are you in love with her?"

House shook his head. "I don't know. It's too soon to tell."

"Do you have feelings for her?"

"Yes. I've been telling you…"

"Are they still as intense as they were four weeks ago?"

"Yes."

Nolan raised his eyebrows. "Are they stronger?"

House sighed. "Yes."

"That should tell you something,"

"Maybe. I don't know."

Nolan leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips thinking. "Let's try something. Give me five words that describe Remy."

House made a face. "What are we going to play word associations to ferret out my feelings?"

"Yes."

He rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat. These were always so painfully fun.

"Five words," Nolan prompted and then raised his finger for a qualification. "They must describe her personality, not her physical attributes."

House grumbled in frustration and thought for a few long minutes before coming up with his answers. "Independent. Sarcastic. Persistent. Stubborn. And… Compassionate."

Nolan frowned that contemplative scowl at him again. He had said something that piqued his interest. "Why is compassionate last?"

"Why?" House repeated. "Because sometimes she gets too involved with patients and pushes too hard. She takes it personally."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"In our arena it is," he said. "We need to see the disease not the people's motivations."

"You don't think that the way people live their lives helps to determine how they've become ill in the first place?"

"No. Infections are infections. Genetics are genetics and mutations are environmental. People's inner hopes and dreams don't determine how their body reacts to those components."

"Have you ever been led to a diagnosis based on her insight into a patient's life? Things that she's noticed about them that you haven't?"

"I don't know."

"Think about it," Nolan urged.

House sat back and tried to recall over the years. There were quite a few actually. Ugly kid, when he was pleasantly surprised that she was beautiful and smart. The punk rocker druggie he had to fire her over at the end of his game. The flat-chested breast cancer mom. The feminist flunkie. Her bisexual hot chick. The two for one kid who was a boy and a girl. God, there were a lot more he couldn't even remember. "Okay, so maybe in her case it works."

"Maybe she fulfills a side of you that you can't seem to grasp," Nolan suggested.

House let that absorb in for a second. _Maybe that was true_. But, he had given four other good qualities about her…? _What about those?_ "Why focus on the compassion, why not the others?" House asked curiously.

"Because the other four are descriptions of you," Nolan replied. "Or rather things that you value in her because they are like you. Compassion is the only one that stands out."

House feigned offense. "Are you saying I'm not compassionate?"

"I'm saying that you distance yourself from those you treat, and those who are supposed to be close to you, to self-protect."

"Maybe."

"Maybe her compassion for others is the catalyst for you to be able to connect on a more personal level. Maybe her compassion for you is the key to you opening up." Nolan looked at him. "She understands you, she respects you and she's never asked you to be someone you are not."

House frowned and looked down at his hands. "No she hasn't."

"Do you trust her?"

"Yeah," House replied.

"How does she make you feel when you are with her, at home not at work?"

"I feel good. Relaxed. Sometimes awkward like I don't know what to say but she just waits or brings the conversation around to something else. She's funny. We laugh a lot. And she's not offended by my rude jokes."

"That's a good thing, since you can't seem to not do that," Nolan said with a smirk.

"It's part of my genetic code," House shrugged.

"Do you ever talk about serious things?"

"Not really," he said. "Things haven't come up I guess."

"Politics, religion, toilet seat up or down?"

"Toilet seat definitely down," House grimaced. "Got an earful after her ass hit the water the other morning."

"They do tend to hate that," Nolan chuckled. "Any arguments yet, other than that?"

"Nothing that hasn't pertained to work and me being a slave driving asshole," he told him with a frown. "She rolls with the punches pretty well. If she's irritated by something, she just says it and then it's gone."

"It sounds like you're getting to know her pretty well," Nolan observed casually.

"We spend a lot of time together."

"Bigger things than the toilet seat are going to start coming up," Nolan assured him. "You need to be willing to face them when they arise. Be open to discussion because avoidance isn't going to help you get the clarity you need."

"Yeah, I know."

"Good. That's progress."


	14. Chapter 14

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 14

New week, new case. Thirteen was all better and back to fighting form. She had gone back to sleeping at her place and House was loath to admit how much he missed having her by his side in bed. But, it was better that way. Too much gratuitous touching could lead to things that they wouldn't be able to control. House still had things to work out and the questions that had arisen because of her curable illness weighed heavily in light of her _incurable_ illness. Just how much was he willing to do? Just how emotionally committed was he to her and to being in a relationship with someone? He was fifty years old. He was well past the time of settling down, not that he cared for convention, but he was tired of being alone. Was she the one? Did he love her? Or was it because she was his 'right now'? He certainly cared for her. That much he knew. He cared for her a lot and she made him feel good. But would that last? Or would that turn into something bitter and horrible like most things in his life. _God, he had no idea_. He hated the indecision and the uncertainty of it all. He hated that he couldn't trust his gut anymore and that his bought with psychosis had made him question his instincts and motivations. He used to know how he felt. Things were black and white, complicated but simple. Now there were five million shades of gray.

House rubbed his lips distractedly over his laced knuckles as he contemplated the different possibilities facing them as to what was going on with their fifteen-month-old girl in the pediatric ICU. Diarrhea, lethargy, irritability, and now liver. The liver was swelling with no apparent cause. And now her breathing was becoming labored.

He was frustrated. Thirteen was frustrated, he could tell. The set of her jaw was firm and her eyes were an icy shade of gray like the sky before a snowstorm. She was pissed at Foreman because they couldn't agree on the treatment. Foreman was pissy because she negated everything he said. And House was getting pissy just listening to them.

"Just because the mother's young, you jump to viral Hepatitis?" Thirteen attacked the neurologist's assumption.

"The mother's twenty years old with a history of drug use," Foreman fought back. "Why do you deny the possibility that the baby could have been infected during birth?"

"Because the mother doesn't have Hepatitis," she ground out in frustration.

"Could you two please go back to having sex?" Taub complained. "Differentials went so much smoother when you guys actually agreed with each other."

"It's not Hep," House growled, waylaying any further discussion of Remy having sex with anyone who wasn't him. "No jaundice, no dark urine, no clay-colored stools."

"It could be heart failure?" Chase added.

House considered this. With the tachycardia and the nausea and diarrhea, plus the absence of jaundice it was a possibility.

"What about Leukemia?" Thirteen turned to him with big eyes. She wasn't trying to sound optimistic, she was just looking for answers.

"Do an echocardiogram and take a piece of her liver," House ordered. "It's big enough, she won't miss a bit."

He dismissed them to go administer the tests and hobbled into his office to think in quiet. Chase and Taub had left immediately, eager to get out of the tension in the room. He'd expected them all to go since he had ordered two separate tests, but Remy and Foreman stayed back. House paused behind his desk, not sitting down. Instead, he peered into the other room and unabashedly watched the two trying to discern what their conversation was about. She looked annoyed and he looked... _contrite_? Not that House ever really recognized that particular emotion on many people, but that was it. Foreman looked contrite, maybe even remorseful.

House watched them from his position. He was curious. He wanted to know what Foreman had to say to her. It annoyed him. He didn't want Foreman anyway near her, professionally or personally. And especially not after Taub's inadvertent comment. The little troll was right. Things went a lot smoother when they were sleeping together. They used to agree and back each other up, even when they were wrong. She had always been confident to toss out ideas but, now it seemed like they were bringing up diagnoses just to contradict each other. It was a problem. One House was going to have to squash and fast.

He tapped a pen against his blotter and scowled. She looked extremely pissed at whatever it was that Foreman had to say to her. Suddenly, House felt his fist ball into a tense knot as Foreman took a step toward her. His hand reached out and caressed her arm as he looked apologetically into her eyes. House was about to step forward and interject himself into their discussion when she shrugged off Foreman's hand with a glare that nearly singed the edges of the neurologist's lab coat because of the fierce look in her eyes. The younger doctor retreated a step backwards and then looked duly chagrinned, House inadvertently doing the same as if her ire had hit him too. It was none of his business. He knew. But he felt uncharacteristically possessive. And he couldn't help it.

Foreman left the conference room then and she remained in her spot for a moment. House could see her breathing evenly, doing some yoga cleansing breaths to calm herself. When she was finally composed, she turned to come into his office. He quickly sat down at his desk and swiveled around in his chair to push his mouse, deactivating the screen saver, pretending that he hadn't just been trying to eavesdrop.

"I need to tell you something," she announced solemnly as she approached his desk.

He slowly turned his chair around to look at her. The look on her face was not something he ever really wanted to see from her again. There was regret in her eyes. And that really bothered him. He raised his eyebrows and rested his elbow on the arm of his chair not saying anything.

She sighed heavily and swallowed looking at him anxiously. "Foreman… wants me back."

Something fell into the bottom of House's stomach like a rock. He took in a sharp breath and drew his eyebrows together. He didn't know how to respond. She looked anxious. And that made him nervous.

"He's been trying to get me to take him back since Christmas," she told him. When he didn't say anything, she rushed on, "I told him I was seeing someone, that I wasn't interested but he's being stubborn and persistent." She looked down at her hands and then back up at him. "I haven't said anything to you before now because I don't want to be with him. I figured he'd let it go, but that's not the case."

House felt a little better about her admission, except now he wanted to beat the ever-living shit out of Foreman. He no longer felt bad about sleeping with his employee's ex-girlfriend. In fact he'd like to rub his nose in it. "And you're telling me this because…?"

"Because you and I are…" she began but hesitated as she got stuck on what to call this thing they were doing.

"We're building a relationship," he clarified. It came out much easier than he'd expected. He supposed that was a good thing. _A step in the right direction_.

"I don't want you to say or do anything," she told him. "I will handle it."

_Yeah, he was good at that… just leaving it alone and letting someone handle it._ He closed his eyes slowly and took a breath. He knew that he had to respect her wishes. That this was her fight. He could practically hear Nolan's voice ring out in his head, _"She is the one who needs to close this chapter in her life. Your interference with only exacerbate the problem."_

It took every ounce of his being to say, "Okay."

Remy stood there for a moment just staring at him. She was clearly confounded by his reaction. "That's it? Just okay?" He nodded at her and she shifted her weight to her other foot. "You're not just saying that and are going to go put itching powder in Foreman's toiletries as soon as I go to do a liver biopsy?"

"Nope," he assured her. "Although that does sound like a good idea."

"For real?" she pressed. "You're going to let me handle this?"

"Yes," he said and flung his hands out to the side to demonstrate his sincerity. "This is me letting you handle this."

She narrowed her eyes speculatively and then opened her mouth to say something but closed it tight instead. She turned to leave but then doubled back. "I'm going to do a liver biopsy before I give you anymore ideas."

He nodded at her. "Okay."

"Okay," she smiled warily and then left. Sighing, House grabbed his cane and went next door to talk to Wilson.

House opened the door and stepped inside.

"How's your baby?" the oncologist asked from his desk.

"She's giving me angina," House responded crossing to the sofa to take a load off. He was exhausted and it wasn't even eleven AM. Laying down, he adjusted the sides of his coat and crossed his feet at the ankles, earning a strange look from Wilson except it wasn't because he'd just made himself at home. "Oh you mean the _baby_, baby, with the enlarged liver?"

"What other baby would I be talking about?"

House shrugged. "No idea."

A light bulb clicked on in Wilson's head and he smiled. "What's the matter with Thirteen?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"You didn't come here to talk about your patient," Wilson surmised knowingly.

"Did too," House replied. "If I don't find out what's toying with this kid's liver, there's going to be a dead baby on everyone's hands."

Wilson leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. "What do you think it is?"

"Foreman thinks it's Hep C, because mom used to go for the heroin chic. Thirteen thinks its anything that disagrees with Foreman. Chase thinks it's heart and Taub has no opinion, which is not as shocking as it should be."

"Those are all the things you know it's not," Wilson observed. "But what is really interesting is the Foreman/Thirteen thing. That's really why you're here."

The door swung open suddenly and Thirteen popped her head in. "Abigail's brain is swelling."

House sat up and let out a sigh. _Great_. _Another symptom. _"Start her on Triamterene/hydrochlorothiazide and Phenytoin to avoid seizures. Alert Chase to put in a shunt if it's doesn't clear up in an hour."

"Okay," she nodded and turned to leave.

"How'd you know I was here?" House called, halting her before she left.

"After what I just told you, you had to be with Wilson."

"Oh my god! You're pregnant?" Wilson exclaimed in astonishment.

"What?"

"What?!"

House and Thirteen stared at Wilson with their mouths agape. House felt like the earth suddenly shuddered and cracked underneath him. _Where the hell did that come from?_

"How do you go from ICP to parasite bun in the oven?" House demanded stymied and more than a little off kilter.

Wilson scoffed and stared blankly at them for a moment. "Well… she's been sleeping over, the mix up about the word 'baby', you're oddly concerned about the baby, angina and she dropped a bomb on you? What else am I supposed to think?"

Thirteen tilted her head askance and then nodded curtly at his friend. "Not pregnant." She closed the door leaving House to iron out this convoluted misinterpretation all by himself.

"Dude? Pregnant?" House stared at him. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry," Wilson shrugged apologetically. "It seemed logical."

House shook his head to clear that mental image from his mind. "She told me that Foreman wants her back."

"Oh." Wilson made a face. "Oh? Ooohhh…"

"Yeah, oh." House grumbled.

"Well that makes more sense," Wilson admitted with a shrug. "What are you going to do?"

House shook his head and rolled his cane around in his palms. "Nothing."

Wilson arched a bushy eyebrow at him. "You're going to do nothing?"

"Yeah, weird huh?"

Wilson blinked in shock. "Weird isn't the word for it."

"Tell me about it," he muttered. "She says she wants to handle it."

"And you're going to let her?"

"Personally, I'd like to hire Vinnie the Ice Pick to take care of it, but somehow I'm thinking that wouldn't be a good idea."

"No probably not," Wilson agreed. "As soon as he finds out this is going to become a 'thing'."

House inhaled a breath. "I know."

"The guy hates you more than life itself," he added.

"I know."

"This may push him over the edge."

"I know!"

"Well, either he'll kill you or finally move across country to get away from you."

"I seem to have that effect on people," House muttered.

"Cameron blamed you, but she moved back to Chicago because she didn't know how to deal with Chase," Wilson told him. "It had nothing to do with you. Your ego's still too big. You need more shrinking."

House frowned and rested his chin on the handle of his cane. "I'm going to let her handle it."

Wilson laughed derisively. "The only reason you're going to let her handle it is because you can't deal with the guilt of what it all means. You feel bad. You tried to get them back together and then when it didn't happen, you slept with her. And now not only can't the guy get a job because he's been tainted by you, you've stolen the one good thing in his life out from under him."

"Oh shut up," House stood. "I don't feel guilty. If he really wanted the last piece of cake, then he should have taken it when he had the chance. It's his loss."

"Maybe so, but that still doesn't absolve you from eating his cake in front of him."

"She's not his cake," House stated gruffly. "She's mine." He sighed disgruntledly and made a face. "Right now, he has no idea."

"And when he does?"

He dropped his eyes to the ground. "I don't know."


	15. Chapter 15

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 15

Remy couldn't really see through her tears as she pressed the speed dial on her phone. What was worse was the fact that she was behind the wheel of her car. Crying and driving was a stupid thing to do. But she had reached her breaking point and she just needed to get out of there.

"Come on pick up," she willed urgently out loud even though she knew he couldn't hear her. "Pick up the phone damn it!"

She was pulling into the space at the back of his building when he finally answered after the third call.

"What?" came his sleepy voice out of the speaker.

"It's me," she said getting out of the car. She grabbed her purse and traipsed across the small lot to the door. "I need you."

She could hear him roll over underneath his sheets with an audible sigh. "What's wrong?"

"Just open the door," she told him, "I'll be up in two minutes."

Pressing the end button, she rode the elevator up to his floor, shifting impatiently from foot to foot throughout the entire ride. A few tears escaped the corners of her lids when she let her mind wander. She swiped at them angrily. She didn't really want him to see her cry, because he wasn't going to understand, but she needed to be with him nonetheless. It was like a natural pull that she couldn't deny.

When the doors to the elevator opened, she could see him immediately. He was standing in the doorway in his pajama pants and t-shirt, barefoot and disheveled from being roused from a deep sleep. She had clearly woken him up and she knew how much he hated that. It was two o'clock in the morning. His face turned into a dark scowl of concern when he saw her and she couldn't hold back her tears any longer. The floodgates opened and she sobbed into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her completely at a loss by the situation but willing to give her the comfort she so desperately needed.

He maneuvered them into the apartment and closed the door behind them. Standing there in the foyer, he just held her in his arms and let her cry without any questions as he ran his hands over her back, soothing her.

"Abigail's dead," she told him through her sobs.

Remy felt him take in a swift breath and tighten his hold on her. He was angry, not because she was crying but, because they were too late to diagnose the Reye's syndrome. Remy had found it earlier in the day when she was talking with the young mother of the girl. Abigail had been sick with what her mother thought was just a cold but turned out to be the flu. The young woman was still breast-feeding her daughter despite the fact that fifteen months was well past the time of weaning. The mom herself had been suffering from migraine headaches due to stress and self-medicated with Excedrin Migraine. The over the counter drug had salicylates in it. Aspirin. Under strict pediatric guidelines for the past twenty years, it had been recommended to never give a child anything with salicylates especially during a viral infection. But with the breastfeeding, the child unknowingly absorbed the aspirin through the breast milk. It explained everything. The liver swelling, the tachycardia and the ICP. They hadn't caught it time and the little girl's brain had swollen beyond help. She died an hour ago and Remy was the one to tell the poor young mother.

House pulled back from her and led them into his bedroom so they could talk without waking Wilson.

Remy wiped at her tear-stained face and sat on the edge of his bed. She was still in her scrubs and she smelled like the hospital. She hated that part of about her job. All hospitals had that distinct smell of antiseptic and death. She had first discovered it when her mother was dying. She associated the scent with all of the terrible feelings she had about her mother and the woman's subsequent death. Yet, Remy had somehow managed to push her disgust of it aside enough to become a doctor. For the most part, she didn't even notice it anymore. But every once in a while it really got to her and she couldn't stand it. Losing this little girl brought it all back to her in full force.

"I'm sorry," she said, more chastising herself for her emotional outburst.

House sat on the edge of the bed next to her. "Why are you so upset?"

She took in a breath. She wasn't surprised; she knew he wasn't going to understand. "I know we've lost patients before. People die, but… she was just a baby."

"Baby's die too," he said.

"I know." More tears started to roll over her lower lids and down her cheeks. "It just makes it harder." Her hand was shaking as she wiped at her running nose. He had a box of tissues on the nightstand so he reached back and gave it to her. She gratefully accepted it and proceeded to inelegantly blow her nose. Normally she'd care that she just snotted into a tissue in front of a man she was dating. But tonight she didn't give a shit. _The good, the bad and the ugly… they had to share_. Well, this was another one of her ugly moments. She'd seen plenty of his over the years.

"I've lost twelve babies, under the age of two, in my career," he said quietly. "It's never easy and there's never really anything you can do. So there's no point in beating yourself up over it. A baby is still dead no matter how much you cry over it."

Remy winced at his matter-of-fact way of saying it. He was so blunt. So cut and dry. So cold. It had to be how he dealt with it. Removal, distance… denial of the emotions associated with the pain of feeling something too overwhelming. "I want kids," said suddenly without thinking.

He stared at her for a long time and then ran his hand over his tired face. "That's a stupid option for you."

Remy lowered her eyes to the soggy tissues in her hand. "I know."

"There a fifty-fifty chance that…"

"I know!" she spat at him in anger. Did he think she wasn't acutely aware of the dangers of her disease? Sighing, she doubled back. She hadn't meant to get irate but he was pushing her buttons. "I know that it's like playing Russian roulette and that it's not fair. Which is why I won't even try. But it still doesn't change the fact that I do want children. I always have. After what Wilson assumed this morning… about us… I mean, haven't you ever thought about it? At least once in passing… what it would be like if you had kids?"

He rolled his eyes and swallowed. "I have. I'd be a shitty father."

Remy looked at him sadly. _That so wasn't true_. "No you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would," he insisted. "And it's not going to happen so there's no point in talking about it."

"Yes, there is," she persisted frustratedly. "This is a very important issue between all couples."

"Right," he said flatly. "And a very, very dumb idea for us. I don't want kids. I never have. I don't have the patience of the capacity to care for anyone else who's not me. That's hard enough as it is. I can't take care of a baby and I certainly can't take care of a child alone after it's mother dies of a genetic disease that has no cure."

His words stung her like a slap to the face but they were the truth. It was a reality that she wanted so desperately to be different but couldn't ever change. No matter how much she would want it to be different, it didn't change the facts. She was dying and he was incapable of that kind of commitment. He was right. Children were not in their future. Period. She knew this to be the case and the only reason it was coming up right here, right now was because she had lost a patient who happened to be a baby. She probably wouldn't have even talked about it with him otherwise.

Remy sighed heavily and took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. "I'm not asking you to have a child with me. We're just talking. That's all." She could tell he felt backed into a corner about this. And rightfully so. She had sort of just thrown him into the hot seat without any warning. That was the last place she wanted him, he was like a caged animal there and he became unpredictable. She placed her hand on his knee and closed her eyes for a minute. "I'm tired. It's been a really awful day. I didn't come here to start a fight. I just needed to be with you." He looked at her like that was suspect in itself but, then changed his mind and ran his hand over her hair coming to rest on her shoulder. The weight of his hand felt good, effortlessly grounding her to him. He gave her a little squeeze, massaging some of the tension out of her exhausted muscles.

"Let's go to sleep and in the morning we'll forget this ever happened," he suggested.

Nodding ruefully, she easily accepted his proposal and crawled into the bed under the covers. He lay back and held his arm out to invite her to rest her head on his chest. She quick whipped off the top of her scrubs to the long sleeve tee underneath tossing it to the floor and then settled herself on the pillow of his shoulder. It had been over a week since she'd been in his bed and that was only because she was sick. This wasn't exactly the way she wanted to get back into it either, but it was nice to be able to just lie next to him again. She felt safe and comforted in his warmth and quickly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning House stood in the kitchen making coffee. Wilson had already left for the hospital almost two hours ago while he and Remy slept in. She was finishing up her shower while he made breakfast. He wasn't in the mood for anything fancy. Just toasted bagels with cream cheese. In fact, he didn't really have an appetite at all after their strange conversation last night. He couldn't really sleep after that. He kept waking up with dreams of his father. Oddly, they were about some of the really good times they had together and he'd wake up smiling and confused.

Over the past few months, House had begun to come to terms with his relationship with his father. Yes, there were plenty of things that sucked about growing up with a man who was a harsh disciplinarian and rigidly unemotional. It wasn't a loving, nurturing environment by any stretch of the imagination. But there were good times when his father showed him things, took him to interesting places that no kid ever really got to see. He had sat in more fighter planes than any ten year old on the planet when he was growing up. He had been to more countries with fascinating cultures and spoke more than four languages by the time he was sixteen than regular people got to do in a lifetime. House had a crappy childhood by typical standards but it fostered his need to learn and provided him with insights into the world that he used every day. John House was a shitty dad, but he was an interesting guy.

Quietly, Remy walked into the kitchen, her damp hair combed loosely away from her face making dark water stains on the light mint green of her scrubs. She took a seat at the counter and he handed her a plate with a bagel on it and placed a cup of coffee in front of her. He had brewed it special for her in Wilson's French press. Since she had been taking the ginseng he'd gotten her for energy, she'd given up the caffeine drinks and went back to the decaf. He, on the other hand, had made himself a whole pot of hi-test because there was no way he'd be able to squeak by on unleaded coffee after last night.

"Thanks," she said warming her hands on her cup before taking a tentative sip of the hot liquid.

"Cuddy called," he told her. "She says we have a new patient."

"That was fast," she said around a mouthful of bagel.

"Hot chick with really big hives," he described.

"Umm, is that code for big tits or is that a symptom?" she said with a touch of humor in her voice.

"If it were coming from Taub, I'd say 'yes'," he mused. "But since it came from the woman who thinks her breasts are the biggest and bestest in the world, I'm thinking symptom."

"Then why are we still here," she said moving to get off the stool.

"Wait," he halted her. "We need to talk."

"If this is about last night, just forget it, please," she told him, regret hanging in her voice like a fog.

"This is about last night," he said to her. "So shut up and listen." She sighed and sat back on the stool crossing her arms over her chest. House took in a deep breath and scratched at the back of his head anxiously. There was something he needed to tell her. She'd inadvertently opened the door and everything he'd learned in the past six months told him that he had to go through it despite his reservations about it. This was one of those difficult conversations Nolan was talking about.

"I'm fifty years old. I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict. I've had one significant relationship with a woman in my life and only one real friend throughout it all. I don't know how to relate to people on this kind of intimate level and I know that I would be a terrible father because of all of that. And more so because of how my father was when I was growing up." He watched her intently to gauge her reaction. Her face was passive but her brow creased in gentle concern. He could feel his own brow furrow into a scowl and his jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth. He hated talking about this. He didn't like to share it because it was in his past. What was done, was done. But she had a right to know, he supposed. She was the single closest thing to him next to Wilson and Nolan, and he had told them every last detail of it. "My father used to discipline me harshly. It would be considered abuse now. If you had found it out in an exam, you would have been obligated to report it."

"Greg, I…"

"Just let me finish," he begged. She closed her mouth and looked at him with those big sad eyes that nearly tore him apart. He didn't want her empathy. He just needed to make her understand the why of what he had said. "I hated my father. He was a bastard. He's not even my real dad but, he's the only father I've known. I am who I am because of how he raised me. Whether that means I'm an asshole because he used to beat me or in spite of it, I don't know. All I know is that I can't ever bring a child into my world because of who I am."

"I understand," she told him quietly. "I'm so sorry for bringing it up. I was tired and overly emotional. I'm getting my period and that makes me a lunatic. I think it really only came up because we lost such a young life and the things Wilson said and I don't know, my time bomb of a biological clock. I don't want this to be an issue between us. Because it's really not one for me. I wanted kids but I know it's too dangerous to even try and I wouldn't want to put you through that. We have so much other shit to deal with." She chuckled then and smiled at him. "What is it, as an alcoholic, you're supposed to start out with a plant and then if it lives for a year, you can graduate to a pet?"

House laughed wryly. "So you want to share a plant?"

"No," she laughed back at him. "I'd like to just see if this can get to a point where we can have feelings for each other that are open and honest with just us, let alone the rest of the world."

"Fair enough," he agreed.

She hopped off her stool then and came around the counter to wrap her arms around his neck. She stood on her tippy toes and looked up into his face. "I have feelings for you. My heart squeezes inside my chest when I think about you. I don't know what that means but I think it's kind of a big deal." Her words touched him and her voice coursed through him like a soft breeze. She pressed her lips to his and dipped her tongue into his mouth to kiss him sealing in the meaning of what she'd said. Breaking gently away, she traced her finger around one of the buttons on his shirt. "And I really love sleeping next to you. It was one of the best night's sleep I've had in a while."

House closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her forehead. He had deep feelings for her too except he didn't know how to express them. They were still as powerful as they were the night he first made love to her. They weren't dissipating and he didn't know how to interpret that. Was it still an addiction or was he falling in love with her? He still had no idea. She scared the shit out of him, that much he did know.

"Rem…I," he stammered and she shushed him with a finger to his lips.

"I don't expect you to say anything," she told him. "I'm just letting you know where I'm at. You'll decide when you're ready. There's no rush."

Breaking apart, they gathered their coats and left the apartment to go deal with the hot girl and her unexplained hives. Holding her hand comfortably in his, House waited next to her for the elevator. Thoughts and emotions racing around his mind, he was in a storm of confusion. "Just out of curiosity, since we got the kid talk out of the way, how do you feel about marriage?" The subject had been kind of pressing on him since his conversation with Nolan about it.

She looked at him and laughed. "Big white dress, a preacher outside with tons of pale yellow roses and a string quartet off to the side."

House laughed and shook his head. "Figures."

"What about you?" she asked sliding her eyes to his. "How do you feel about marriage?"

"I don't. Marriage is a waste of time."

"Why?" she laughed.

"Why? Because marriage is an institution designed to make people miserable. Name me one marriage where the people weren't ready to kill each other."

"Not my parents, that's for sure," she said thinking. "Or yours, I'm assuming. Um, let's see… Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell."

House rolled his eyes. "You don't know them. You can't possible know if they're miserable or not. Besides, they're not even married."

"Fine. Kyra Sedgwick and Kevin Bacon," she said pointedly. "They _are_ married."

"Again, don't know them and they've only been married for twenty years," he shot her down.

"Twenty years is like two lifetimes in Hollywood," she argued.

"Big deal." The elevator came and they stepped inside.

"Ok, George Burns and Gracie Allen," she announced confidently. "Happily married for almost forty years and in Hollywood. He loved and worshiped that woman until the day she died. And even then, he still talked about her like she was the love of his life for the next thirty years after she was gone. That is what marriage is about."

"How are you even old enough to know about this?" he asked her with a wry look.

"My mother used to watch a lot of TV," she explained with a shrug. "I used to have to ride my bike to the store to buy her those celebrity magazines. It kept her quiet and she'd stop screaming at me for a while."

"You didn't have it so good either," he observed with a frown. He didn't pity her. It was just another thing they had in common.

"No I didn't," she said quietly. "But, I'm not going to let the dictate how I'm living my life now." She paused and looked at him. "I told you before. All I want from you is pure truth and honesty. You've given me that so far. Right now, that's the only thing I have a right to expect."

"Okay," he nodded. Lacing his hand in hers, he tugged her closer to him. "I'm trying."

"I know," she said, a smile on her lips. "So am I."

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her and gave her a lingering kiss. She was magnetic and it was all he could do to not turn around and take her back upstairs. Unfortunately they had some one with a severe allergic reaction to some unknown substance. His desire for her could wait. The question of his feelings for her could not. He needed answers and he needed them soon before they got in this thing way too deep. She was resilient and tough, but at the same time fragile and vulnerable just like him. And knowing himself, how fast he fell for Stacy and even Lydia, he knew that he might end up with a crushed heart.

And at this stage of the game that was unacceptable.


	16. Chapter 16

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 16

A week after their rather heavy discussion, Remy sat next to Taub in the MRI room. They were doing a scan of Hive Girl's abdominal cavity. She was back. They had originally sent her home with a severe allergic reaction to the laundry detergent she was using. It had cleared up a bit, but now she was worse. Her hives were scarring and much, much larger than before. They were trying to see if maybe she was having some sort of internal allergic reaction to something inside her body. She had had laparoscopic surgery to remove an ovarian cyst six months ago and Chase had discussed the possibility that maybe something was left behind causing the allergic response. It was not a coincidence that her skin problems had begun shortly after.

Things had been better between her and House. There was no more discussion of babies or marriage, even though he did make her watch the 'Say Yes to the Dress' marathon he had TiVo-ed and had actually pointed out a dress he liked. That was weird. They continued to go to yoga and bowled when they got a chance. The yoga was doing wonders for his leg and his flexibility. The mind emptying… not so much. That he struggled with even more than the pain of working partial muscles that didn't want to move after ten years of atrophy. They had also begun to spend the night with each other because they enjoyed sleeping next to one another. Nolan wasn't in love with it, but it made them feel good to be close. It was intimate but not sexual. Not that they still didn't yearn for that everyday but, they were doing fine. Now it was like a challenge that neither one of them wanted to fold on. They were in a competition to see who could hold out the longest.

"You smell like him," Taub blurted out suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Remy said not really hearing him because she was deep in her own thoughts.

"Upper chest cavity is clear," he reported and then clarified, "You smell like House."

Remy turned and stared at him with her mouth agape. "What?"

"You do," he said casually. "You smell like him. Fireplace and Irish Spring."

Remy scoffed trying to pretend to be affronted by his accusation. "No I don't."

Discreetly, she brought he hand up to massage her neck so she could sniff at her wrist. _Was it true? Did she really smell like him?_

"The correct response to that would have been, '_Eww, why the hell would I smell like him_?' Fireplace is in your hair and your neck is the Irish Spring," he told her keeping his eyes trained on the monitor though Remy could make out the thin line of his smirk as he pretended to be disinterested. "Means you spent the night and showered at his place."

_God, how cold he possibly know that?_ "Why are you smelling my anything?" she demanded. House's soap was green. _Was it Irish Spring? Shit…_

Taub tapped the side of his nose and gave her an innocent shrug. "Big Jewish schnozz. Can't help it."

Remy feigned a laugh then to cover up her utter mortification. "What do you think you know?" she demanded. "You smelled soap, that's all. I could have been anywhere."

"I used to cheat on my wife with impunity," he admitted to her. "I can tell when people are hiding an affair. Diaphragm non-perforated and intact."

Taking a strand of her hair between her fingertips, she smelled the tips and then rolled her eyes. It did fucking smell like fireplace. She had showered and washed her hair this morning. How could it possibly still smell like that? "It's not what you think."

"Right," he echoed in disbelief. "I'm sure it's exactly what I think."

"Really," she said vehemently. "It's not."

"You spend two maybe three nights a week at his place," Taub enumerated for her. "He smells like strawberries and cream the other two. Which means he's sleeping at your place too. So far I'm the only one to notice. Chase is still caught up in his own failed marriage but Foreman's been sniffing around you like a dog on the prowl again. A word of advice, just be careful."

"Now you're giving me advice?" Remy looked at him astounded by his acute perception.

"It's none of my business. I shouldn't have said anything," he apologized and turned back to the scan.

Remy bit her lip and wondered if she could confide in him. He seemed genuine. He had been discreet about his own affairs and he really wasn't friends with Foreman. She needed a friend and since Kutner, Taub was the only one left from their posse. "We've been seeing each other since Christmas," she admitted.

"Wow, I was just stabbing in the dark," he said and then laughed when she gave him an indignant glare. "I'm kidding. But really, wow, that's longer than I thought."

"It's not about sex," she qualified not knowing really why she felt the need to justify her relationship to him but she did. "We're dating."

"In a real relationship?" he asked, flat out curious now. "Like 'Hi, honey how was your day?' Well, except he knows how your day was because he was the one who made it miserable. That kind of relationship?"

"Yeah," she grinned. "Just like that."

"Impressive," he said with a contemplative shrug.

"Other than…your smell detector… are there other clues?" she asked carefully. She really didn't want it getting around that she and House were in a relationship. Things were fine just the way they were. He was content and working on expressing his feelings. Things were good and if it got out right now, things could go bad really fast. Especially if Foreman got wind of it. Everything would be awkward and tense. And neither one of them wanted that.

"Not so much. His general _niceness_ is admittedly weird, but he's been like that since… you know," he gave her an apologetic smirk and then looked back at the monitor.

Remy cringed a little the mention of House in the mental hospital. She tried to not think about it too much. It must have been a horrible experience for him to lose control like that and then to have to be forced to stay and be the patient instead of the genius doctor that he was. It was a horrible time for all of them. After losing Kutner and then losing him, it was hard on everyone to know he was there. Because despite what an asshole he'd been to them, he was still amazing to work for and they all at least respected that about him even if they didn't like him as a person.

"Aren't you going to make some sort of comment about 'what do I see in him'?" she asked recalling how he'd mocked her relationship with Foreman.

Taub shook his head. "No." He inhaled a sigh and then looked at her seriously. "I think it's great."

"Really?" Remy stared at him in shock. "Why?"

"He may be all those things that we experience on any given day but, underneath all that bull he puts out there, essentially he's the same as the rest of us," Taub explained. "He doesn't want to be alone."

Nodding Remy looked at him. "He's not as bad as everyone thinks. It's an act."

"I know." He smiled at her then. "You seem happier than when you were with Foreman."

Rolling her eyes, Remy laughed. "You never got what I saw in Foreman to begin with."

"I still don't," Taub admitted. "He's about as emotional as watching paint dry. At least with House, things will never be boring."

"True," she agreed.

"Just be careful with him," Taub said. "He occasionally has good intentions, but sometimes in the midst of those intentions you can get seriously burned in the process."

"I know," she said. "Been here as long as you."

"Then you should know there's always another shoe to drop."

"Yeah," Remy said contemplating that for a moment. "I'm wondering when the next one's coming."

"I'm guessing only time will tell," Taub said. "Or the universe has turned itself inside out and what was wrong is now right."

"See I knew you thought it was weird," Remy pointed her finger at him.

The little man laughed at her. "No. It is weird, but _good weird_." He pushed the end button on the scan. "Nothing in the pelvic floor. She's clean."

Remy sighed. "Let's print the scans and take them to the others. Maybe there's something we're just not seeing."

* * *

House hated this. He was frustrated. It was messy. And he just couldn't do it.

Pottery sucked.

Once again she had talked him into, rather challenged him, no… blackmailed was really a better word for it, into coming to a pottery class with her. She had flashed her perky love bubbles at him this morning when she was brushing her teeth and surreptitiously taken advantage of him in his weakened state. Damn her. Damn him for being a sucker for perky pink nipples.

He had an itch on his eyebrow he couldn't scratch and clay in his watch, the one Kutner gave him, because he stupidly didn't think to take it off. And now the fucking bowl he was making had collapsed again because it wasn't centered properly. She had pulled three absolutely gorgeous pots since they started and he was still working on his kindergarten ashtray. _Fuck, he was pissed off_!

"Be patient with it," she said from her little wheel directly across the way from him. "It takes time to understand the feel of it."

House raised his eyes toward the ceiling and let out a growl. She was trying not to laugh at him but his frustration was amusing her. Like a child, he took his hands and squished the deformed pot through his fingers making the wet gooey clay squirt out like muddy grey ribbons. At least that felt satisfying, the barbaric destruction of something that was supposed to be beautiful. He shook his head and looked at the clay on his hands. "This stuff feels like cold intestines when you squeeze it through your fingers."

"Mhm," she murmured as she carefully cut her bowl off of the wheel with a wire that looked like it could garrote someone.

"That's disgusting," the young woman to his left said with a disdainful snort.

"Why, yes it is Hannah," he sniped back at her, "considering intestines are only cold when they're dead."

Remy arched an eyebrow at him as she rose to take her beautiful fucking pot over to the drying table.

House leaned over and taunted Hannah. "You know, I pulled a 32 inch tape worm out of girl name Hannah's intestines once. Kinda felt like this too, only a lot warmer."

The young woman blanched and accidently nicked her piece, sending the fragile thin rim into a floppy elephant ear fold, collapsing her vase. Good! Now he wasn't the only one with a broken pot.

Remy came back then with a knowing look on her face. "Stop it," she mouthed to him.

House pouted and grabbed the mushy clay off of the wheel and chucked it into the bucket for used, wet clay. It made a sickening squish when it hit the other wet blobs inside and for a brief moment he wondered what it would sound like if he chucked a handful of it against the wall over there. Would it make a splat? Or a thud? Would it sound like feces?

"Don't even think about it," Remy scolded him.

He looked up at her with innocent eyes. "What?"

"I can see the wheels turn by the look on your face," she said and came over to stand beside him. "Come on, grab another piece and I'll help you."

He raised his eyes to her and batted his lashes demurely. "Could you? It's all the way over there."

"Fine," she said and went to go get him a new piece of wedged clay. When she returned, she threw it down hard on the bat and then smacked it a few times.

House chuckled. "You tell that bad clay. Uhnng, yes! Smack it harder! Bad, bad clay!"

"It's not the only thing I'm gonna smack if you don't shut the hell up," she stated, rolling her eyes at him. She looked away from him but he caught her biting back a smirk that told him she found him hilarious despite being all on her best behavior for class.

"Ok, turn on the wheel and pour some water on it," she told him as she squatted down in front of his wheel basin. "Put your hands on the clay gently."

He did as she instructed and then she placed her hands over his applying firm pressure. "Finally, I get to reenact the scene from _Ghost_," he exclaimed dramatically. "I was beginning to think it would never happen." She smiled at him and continued to add more pressure to the backs of his hands. "Except you're on the wrong side. You're supposed to be over here with me and wearing way less clothing."

"Why does everyone assume that's what you do in pottery class?" Hannah muttered disgruntled. "It's so cliché."

"Yes and so are your hairy legs and jingle bells at your ankle. Feminist Lesbos have discovered razors in the twenty-first century," House sniped back at her.

Hannah sputtered indignantly. Remy gave her a fake apologetic smirk and then flicked her eyes back to him with a devilish little glint. The young woman was annoying to her too; she was just too nice to give her a smack down.

Bringing her attention back to his hands, she curved his fingers around the clay ball helping him to squeeze and flatten the mound into submission. "The trick to centering clay is to get the wobble out if it by forcing pressure from all sides," she told him. "Clay particles are like blood platelets, before you center the clay they're floating in all different ways. The centrifugal force and the pressure from your hands forces the platelets to lie flat. It makes the clay behave better when you go to pull and shape it because they're all facing the right direction."

House nodded. "Well, that makes sense." She appealed to the science of it so he could visualize what was supposed to happen. _Smart woman_. "You really like this."

"I do," she smiled. "Its very meditative just watching the clay go round and round. I can focus on it and clear my mind from work and just be totally quiet for hours."

"You need that a lot," he said, suddenly realizing that for the first time. "Quiet time to clear your mind. Are you stressed?"

She shrugged. "No. Sometimes work just gets to be a lot."

"Do I stress you out?"

"No, why would you ask that?" she glanced up at him.

"When we were at yoga you told me that you go to quiet your mind from my senseless chatter," he frowned, recalling her comment from their first night at practice when she grabbed his lips to silence him.

She looked at him fully and sighed. "I said that because we spend so much time on overdrive that sometimes I need to just have down time. No thinking, no talking, just quiet."

"Downtime is good," he said. "I live for downtime. I can do downtime. This, however, is not downtime. _This_ is stressful."

Laughing, she moved her hands off of his and sprinkled more water on with the sponge. "You're centered. Now, cup your hands around the sides and push your thumbs into the center. Steady pressure straight down. No pulling yet."

House nodded and did as she told him. _So far, so good_. He had a deep well. She put more water on and the clay became slippery underneath his palms. It actually felt pretty sensual. "Okay, now like you're going to eat a sandwich, gently grab the sides pinching slightly and pulling towards you from the center out. Slowly." The thick wall began to thin out and the opening widened like a mouth. Soon, he could fit his whole fist in the cavity. This was farther than he'd gotten on his own. _Pretty cool_.

"When you pull your hands away, do it slowly or you can throw off the balance even just slightly."

House removed his hands gradually, careful not to dent the sides and held his palms out keeping the slimy mess away from everything. He shifted his butt cheeks in the plastic seat and straightened his leg. His thigh was complaining about being in the same position for too long.

"You need a break?" she asked him sweetly.

"Nah, a rub down later will suffice," he winked at her playfully.

"If you pull this and actually make a vase, I promise you a full hour body massage," she winked back at him with a saucy smile.

"Oh woman, you don't play fair," he complained. Their competiveness was becoming quite a thing between them.

Arching her delicate eyebrow, she looked at him and smiled. "You have amazing hands, this shouldn't be too much of a challenge for you."

House smiled self-consciously at her compliment. It was few and far between that people gave him compliments. Strangely, he didn't really care until they started coming from her.

"Alright, let's pull this bad boy," she said eagerly.

"Teach me, my mistress of the pottery," he teased ready for more instruction.

"Okay, now here's where your delicate touch comes in handy," she said. "Gently place your two left fingers on the inside wall and meet them with all four of your right fingers on the outside wall." She gave him a little visual and he positioned his hands as instructed. Carefully she placed her hands in the same position over his and guided him through it as she explained. "As you pull up little by little, gently pinch the clay together between the inner and outer fingers. When it gets thin enough after few pulls, you'll be able to feel the pressure from the other side. As you get to the top, touch your fingers together and exit the pottery in one smooth motion." Their hands swept up and over the top lip of the moist clay like a lover's caress. Her hands on his, slick wet clay all over them. House blinked his eyes and cleared his throat. He was a little turned on. This wasn't just a little sensual; it was a lot sensual. Slippery, wet, undulating clay. No wonder it was a scene from that movie.

"Great, now you try," she said removing her hands from his.

In three more pulls, he had a bowl. A rather plain looking, round, big ass cereal bowl. But, it was a bowl.

Excitedly, she clapped her hands together cracking some of the drying clay on the edges of her palms. "You did it!"

House rinsed his hands off in the slop bucket and admired his work. It was stupid. He felt like a five year old but he was proud of himself. She was also proud of him and that stupidly seemed more important than how he felt about his own accomplishment. _God, when did he turn into That Guy?_ It was when she started looking at him with those crystal blue eyes and smiling at him like he was the most gifted man in the world, just like she was right now. _That's when_.


	17. Chapter 17

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 17

House sipped his coffee, which was now cold, and stared around the duck pond anticipating a revolt against his latest suggestion. He wanted to shock a man's heart into cardiac arrest to take a scan without it moving to determine the cause of his atrial fibrillation. It should be no biggie, they've done it before. He really didn't know what they were all whining about.

"Just like last time with Skinless Ballerina, it still takes four minutes to MRI the entire heart," Remy informed him needlessly, not to mention a tad sarcastically.

"We could still go for the Metoprolol to regulate the heart," Taub suggested.

"There's no guarantee that it will work," Foreman tossed out there impatiently.

"We could try it," Chase suggested. "If it doesn't work then we'll stop his heart."

"See, why does the pretty one have all the good ideas?" House said pointing to Chase and then leaned over in his chair and spoke in an aside. "You may have cut off all the hair, but you're still blonde. You're supposed to be the dumb one. Remember?"

Someone pushed open the door to the conference room. It was an overnight delivery woman. House didn't recognize the uniform but she was smoking hot, with her long blonde hair tied back under her gray utilitarian baseball cap.

"I'm looking for a Dr. House," she announced to the group. "Someone from security told me I could find him up here."

"If that's a summons then, he's the black guy over there," House pointed at Foreman who sneered at him in disgust. "He has like nine of them already."

"No, just a package," she said warily.

House looked at the group. "Aww, did you guys get me a strip-o-gram again. That's just so sweet," he wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Next time sweetheart, your costume needs to be a hell of a lot tighter for the whole tits and ass effect." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at her. "She must be a newbie."

Remy rolled her eyes at him and her mouth dropped open. Taub tried to hold back a snort of laughter and the blonde woman distastefully thrust an electronic board in his face. "Just sign for your package, asshole."

Oops, apparently she really was a delivery person and he'd just made that sexist comment to her in front of his girlfriend. _Way to go_. Taking the tablet, he scribbled his signature and handed it back to her. Rolling her dark eyes, she tossed one of those cardboard envelopes in his lap before stalking away toward the elevators in her steel-toed work boots.

House slid his eyes to Remy to see if she was actually pissed, but her expression had changed to curiosity as she eyed the envelop in his hand. He was curious too, because he didn't recall… no, wait a minute. He knew exactly what this was.

Excitedly, he tore at the little pull-tie that ripped the upper portion of the envelope open. "Yes! Sweet!" he exclaimed pulling out two long cardboard tickets. "Monster JAM!!!" he hollered in a booming voice. Looking around the around the table at his ducklings, he was disappointed that not one of them seemed impressed, interested or showed anything even noteworthy. If Kutner were here, he'd have appreciated it.

"Awesome, the little woman is gonna be happy about this," he said tapping his tickets against his hand like a stack of fresh Benjamins. "Now we've got a hot date for this weekend."

"I thought Wilson hated monster trucks," Foreman threw at him with a satisfied smirk.

Taub snorted in laughter this time and Chase did too. House feigned a chuckle and then nailed the neurologist with a stare. He had slipped with that comment and as much as he hated have the barbs thrown back it him, it did save him from his own verbal faux pas.

Remy rose from the table then and clapped him on the shoulder like a buddy instead of like the girlfriend who had fallen asleep with her head on his lap last night. "You're gonna have to buy _him_ a lot of pop corn and cotton candy and maybe even one of those pretty glow necklaces to make that a hot date for him." She accented her double meaning with a flick of the eyebrow before she turned to leave the room.

Curious as to why she was leaving, he called after her. "Where are you going?"

"To start the patient on Metoprolol," she stated. "Blondie's idea was good, remember?"

He rolled his eyes and gestured for Chase to go with her. _So, she was less than enthused about going to the monster truck rally?_ Well, he bent himself into a pretzel two nights again this week for her and did pottery. For one night, she could stand to experience the Gravedigger in all its white trash glory.

* * *

Remy felt her excitement start to escalate once they got to the IZOD Center in the Meadowlands Sports complex. It took almost an hour to drive there from Princeton but it was a far cry better than having to drive into Philadelphia. She hadn't been thrilled about going to a Monster Truck rally, but after so many nights of couple's yoga and the pottery nightmare, she owed him a man-fest free for all. He was really being such a good sport about doing her things. She had to give him her undivided attention as well.

The atmosphere was kind of crazy and House was excited as all get out. He had on his Gravedigger baseball cap complete with flames and skulls along with his black Gravedigger t-shirt emblazoned with a neon green emblem of the truck soaring through the sky over more flaming skulls underneath his pea coat. She had gotten in the spirit as well by putting on her tightest pair of jeans and a low cut v-neck sweater with a black lace cami underneath. He let her wear his motorcycle jacket so between that and her boots, she felt like a badass. It was kind of like they were in high school, ridiculously silly, but cool.

House had laced his fingers in hers and dragged her through the crowd to the beer concession stand. Once in line, Remy arched an eyebrow at him. His arm slipped around her waist and pulled her close to his side.

"You want beer?" she asked him curiously.

"Yeah, I feel like a frosty cold one," he answered her. "It's been a while." Neither one of them had had a drink since Christmas. He wasn't supposed to and she could really do without it, as well. As a matter of fact, she didn't even really miss it but tonight it felt appropriate.

"A Yuengling would be nice," she replied. He leaned in to kiss her but the brim of his hat dinged her on the forehead. She giggled and he turned it backwards before trying again. His lips were soft and warm and she melted into him enjoying his arms around her. She really didn't care that they were at a monster truck rally; she was thrilled that he was excited about something. Actually, he was downright giddy and his energy was infectious. Within a few minutes, it was their turn at the counter. He ordered and paid for their beers and handed her one so he could use his cane with that hand. Taking the chilly cup and sipping some of the foam off the top, she followed his lead back out into the arena toward the direction of their seats.

Little kids and adults alike milled around in various versions of the fan t-shirt. Some were followers of Gravedigger, some for Avalanche, Nitro Circus and Blue Thunder. Some of the kids had the glo-necklaces she had joked about and big foam fingers that were bigger than their heads on their tiny little hands. They were freaking adorable.

"Do you seriously want a one of those glowing necklaces? Or were you just playing?" he asked her as they passed a little girl with a series of pink, purple and green around her neck.

Remy laughed. "No, I was just kidding. But I am going to want to eat in a little while."

"You sure? They have pretty green for Gravedigger?" he said almost like he wanted to bribe her allegiance to his favorite truck.

"No thanks. Besides, shouldn't I watch first to see who I like best?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "There's no question. It's Gravedigger. Period."

"I don't know," she contested. "I think I heard something on one of the TV's about a Spiderman truck."

"Spiderman?" he scoffed. "You can _not_ choose Spiderman over Gravedigger. Spiderman just does not have the balls. Batman on the other hand… I could live with."

"Batman is kind of sexy," she considered. "He's got that dark, brooding thing going on and you know how I'm a slut for that."

He leaned in closer to her and gave her a kiss behind her ear. "Slutty woman with a bad boy complex, all the better for me."

Remy giggled. He was being playful and she loved it. This was the most naturally relaxed and happy she had ever seen him. It was really nice.

They made it to their seats in the upper sections of the arena. The entire bottom portion of seats was empty and cordoned off by plastic tarps and caution tape.

"Greg, how come no one sits down there?" she asked grabbing his attention and pointing to the vacant seats.

"Because tires and truck pieces come flying off," he explained matter-of-factly. "It's been a while but last year a six year old kid died from a piece of flying shrapnel."

"Oh my God, that's terrible," she exclaimed, thankful now that they were that far away.

He shrugged and settled back in his seat sipping his beer. People began to fill in their seats as dump trucks and earthmovers pushed dirt around. The place where hockey games were played on ice and basketball games were played on hardwood was filled with mounds of orange brown dirt and brightly painted crushed cars, truck and buses. Scenes from previous Monster Jam events played on the jumbotron as loud music was pumped in over the speakers. It was like a rock concert had melded together with a WWE wrestling event in a bizarre mash up.

Remy turned to House. "Ok, so explain to me how this all works."

"There's two different kind of events. Racing and Freestyle," he described. "We're at a freestyle event which means the trucks drive around and show off by jumping all that stuff in the pit. But what's really cool is that this event is with motocross, quad and BMX bikes. It's going to be insane."

"Guys on little bikes and motorcycles are going to jump those things too?" she gushed in disbelief. Chastising herself, she sounded like such a girl.

Apparently he didn't really notice, because he flashed a boyish grin at her. "Yep. Cool, huh?"

Soon the show began in a dramatic fashion. All of the lights came down and spotlights of all colors circulated around the arena as music played setting the scene. It was indeed like a rock concert as each one of the participating trucks were announced and entered in a thunderous roar of engines and exhaust. It was so incredibly loud Remy had to hold her ears until everything just eventually went numb ten minutes later and all she could hear was the clouded sounds through her over stimulated eardrums. Just when Remy thought the introduction was over the lights came on in a flash of pyrotechnics and about twenty to thirty different kinds of motocross bikes, souped up quads and BMX bikes came out and started jumping and doing aerial tricks like acrobats over top of the humongous trucks with the obscenely large tires.

"Whaaaat!" she exclaimed coming to the edge of her seat in amazement. "That is sick nasty!" She looked back at House with a beaming smile on her face. "This is crazy shit! These guys are unbelievable!"

He laughed a deep belly laugh at her enthusiasm. "I told you, you'd love it," he hollered excitedly into her ear.

They watched the show for a while before her hunger won over and they went to grab some hotdogs and cotton candy. House insisted that she get her own because he wasn't going to share his with her. That was fine. She insisted he get his own second beer because she wasn't going to share hers with him, either.

Finally, the big finale came featuring Gravedigger. It was what he had been waiting for all night. The lights went down and the song cut in and out dramatically over the loud speaker to ramp up the tension. George Thorogood's _Bad to the Bone_. It's familiar strains of the gritty blues guitar ripped through the speakers like a chain saw. And then it came out. The hearse-like truck painted in blacks and greens and purples like an evil Hulk on gianormous dune buggy wheels entered in a flourish of sparkling flashes and lights.

The truck leaped and soared over everything in its path. A couple of times it went completely vertical almost tipping backwards but yet amazingly defying gravity. It would somehow land on those huge tires that acted independently like they had a mind of their own. It was amazing to watch this vehicle maneuver like it was an animal with catlike reflexes. Over a dozen times it looked like it was done for, ready to roll onto its side or tip over but it had such flexibility that it righted itself never disappointing its screaming fans. Least of all the man sitting next to her who hooted and hollered like he was at a basketball game and not in a cacophonous arena where every sound was drowned out by the ripping roar of an overpowered engine.

When it was done, Remy was deaf and exhausted from her surging adrenaline. Two hours straight of nothing but noise and death defying feats by guys in big toys. She was pumped. No wonder why he enjoyed it. It was like being high, only on your own excitement.

"That was amazing!" she shouted at him as they slowly walked out the short walk to her car. He had given her his handicapped tag so they could get really primo parking just across the access road that went around the stadium.

"Was I right? Or was I right?"

"You were right," she said nudging him with her shoulder.

He cupped his hand around his ear and leaned closer to her. "What? What was that? I couldn't hear? Did you just say I was _right_?" he taunted.

Laughing, she punched his arm and then clasped his hand in hers. "You're always right. You don't need me to tell you that."

"But it sounds so nice coming from you're lips," he told her and then stopped short just as they reached her car, tugging her up against his front. "Come on, say it again."

Remy giggled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lips to his neck. "Say what again?"

"That part about me being right," he reminded her. Remy kissed the other side of his neck and brought her eyes up to look in his. They were bright and twinkling with amusement under the orange light of the parking area.

Remy wrinkled her nose and shook her head stubbornly teasing him. "Uh uh… I won't say it."

"I bet I can make you say it," he challenged as he brought his hands around her ribcage inside of his jacket and splayed his fingers around her back. Nudging her cheek with his nose, he placed little kisses along her jaw to her lips. The tickle of his beard teased her as he touched his lips gently to hers. The kiss was playful, full of his boyish amusement from their evening. He too was chucking behind his magic lips and the effect was thoroughly intoxicating. His tongue teased her lips open, dipping in to entwine with hers. Remy clutched onto his shoulders as he pulled her up against the length of him. The planes of his body felt so sexy against hers, his t-shirt, his jeans, the muscles underneath, all of his warmth searing her. God, he felt so good.

House deepened the kiss, probing, urging tasting her. His hands roamed all over her back and began to snake around to her front. Remy felt drunk on his essence. His awesomeness coupled with the buzz from the beers and adrenaline and she was soon humming with his every touch. They were breathing heavy in the chilled night air and the she could see the vapor of their breath coming from them. His hand traveled to cup her ass and then reached down to hook her leg around his hips as he turned her around and leaned them against the door of her car. His passion intensified and she could feel his hardness pressed up against her core. His arousal for her excited her even more. Good God, she wanted him so badly.

Voices echoed in her ears and Remy could just barely make out the excited squeals of children in the distance. Dragging her lips away from him, she glanced over her shoulder to see a family with three young kids approach. Clutching fistfuls of wool fabric from his coat, she pushed at him. "Greg, we need to stop."

"Those aren't the right words," he murmured as he dragged his lips down her throat making her gasp in ecstasy as she futilely tried to cool their desire.

"No, Greg, there's kids," she urged smacking him on the shoulders. "House!"

He halted suddenly and lifted his head from her neck, looking in the direction of the arena. He was immediately propelled away from her like an opposing magnet. Growling in frustration, he stalked a few feet away from her raking his hands over his face and hair. The kids were oblivious to the near pornographic display they had just put on as they raced by them vrooming and roaring like the monster trucks, giggling in innocent glee. The parents however, were not so oblivious. Remy looked at House and could feel the blush rise in her cheeks. He too was breathing heavy and his blue eyes were rich with desire. Dipping his head, he put on an apologetic smile and nodded shyly at the couple. The gentleman was a little older than his attractive wife and they both gave Remy and House a knowing little smirk as they walked by. Remy looked at House and then smiled as she saw the couple link arms lovingly. They both looked at each other for a beat and then burst out laughing in sheer embarrassment after the family passed.

House pulled Remy into his arms and hugged her, laughing over her head. "You drive me insane."

Remy chuckled and put her hands on his sides. "I don't know if that's really a good thing."

House touched her face and lifted her chin. "They may have to lock me up again to keep me away from you."

Smiling, Remy looked up at him. "Maybe I should just take you home and stay at my place tonight."

"No." His face was deadly serious and his eyes bore into her. He stepped closer to her and cupped her face in his palm. "You belong in my bed, sex or no sex. Understand?"

Remy nodded, unable to speak from the intensity of his gaze. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs. He was possessive and demanding and that thrilled her more than she had ever imagined.

She took a deep breath and locked her gaze on his. "Are you saying you're beginning to understand what this all means between us?"

"I'm closer," was all he said.

It was really all she needed.


	18. Chapter 18

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 18

Valentine's Day. The date upon which all men became slaves to an economically driven adulteration of a holiday that had no true canonical origins or intrinsic value to begin with. Saint Valentine was an amalgamation of numerous martyrs to have borne the name Valentine. He was not one, but many throughout Christian lore and quite possibly never actually even sent the first valentine card at all. He was not a real defender of love, nor did he really act out of a deep passion for a woman. He wasn't even real; he was legend. The greatest most significant telling of the myth was that he married young soldiers in secret when the Emperor decried that married men made crappy soldiers. It was true, men who had nothing to come home to had nothing to live for and were willing to make sacrifices saddled men wouldn't. But, even more significant than the telling of the story was that the legend was backed by one of the most financially successful conglomerates in the US, _American Greetings_. Any legend purported by a greeting card company was suspect and should be avoided by intelligent men at all costs.

And yet, House sat and waited.

They were in the middle of a differential. Chrohn's, Cancer and Encephalitis were on the table. However, House was leaning towards Behcet's which mimicked 'D) all of the above'. He was stalling. He needed the team to do a skin biopsy and a lumbar puncture but he was letting them toss around their ideas uselessly to kill some time. They were really smart people but always failed to see the obvious. Sometimes it just became so tiring to have to set up the hoops to get them to jump through them. Why couldn't they see the trail of breadcrumbs to the gingerbread house without him? _And seriously, where the hell was the delivery guy?_

House looked across the table at Remy. She looked stunning today, but then again she always did. Her shiny hair was full and wavy and it hung perfectly just so over the shoulders of her lab coat. She had on a simple steel gray v-neck sweater that dipped low enough to see her cleavage when she leaned over. _God, his girlfriend was so sexy_. And, he was pleased to no end to see she was wearing the sapphire necklace he had gotten her last weekend on their little daytrip to New Hope. House had noticed Foreman studying it the other day when she wore it for the first time and then took immense pleasure in it when the neurologist asked her where she had gotten it. She had told him 'The Boyfriend' bought it for her and he watched the younger doctor consequently deflate like she had popped his ego with an ice pick. It was priceless.

_Oh, this was so going to get his panties in a wicked bunch. They were going to need a crowbar to break him free_. If the damn delivery guy ever got here…

House had told her he was going to let her handle the Foreman situation but that didn't mean he wasn't going to kick up the heat a little when he got a chance. He was killing two birds with one stone… because he was all about the economy of a good burn. He got to make the girlfriend happy _and_ fuck with her ex-boyfriend in the process. It was win-win. Just like a 50% off coupon for an all expense paid trip to Funville. He won no matter what the outcome.

Finally, the guy stepped off the elevator and made his way to the office.

The group silenced immediately as a large bouquet of flowers entered ahead of the man. Remy's back was to the door, because he'd orchestrated it that way, so all of the guys saw it first. They had shut up leaving her to ramble on endlessly without anyone paying attention to her.

House plastered a scowl on his face to hide the 5000-watt grin that was threatening to breech the surface as he watched Foreman's eyes widen and then narrow to irate slits. _'The Boyfriend' had struck again_…

"With the retinal inflammation, the genital ulcerations and the skin pustules, I really think we should do a pathergy test to determine Behcet's…" she insisted and then looked around suspiciously at everyone. "What?"

House smirked. _Oh thank god she was beautiful and smart_… She knew it was Behcet's too. Gold star for his girl.

"Delivery for Dr. Remy Hadley," the young man announced.

Surprised, she spun around in her chair. Her gorgeous blue-grey eyes got big like saucers when they landed on the flowers. A true 5000-watt smile graced her face as she accepted the glass vase from the delivery guy giving him a gracious thanks before he left the room. House was thrilled. She looked absolutely radiant with joy.

Curious, House eyed Foreman who looked like he was going to put his fist through the glass table. Good that was exactly the result he was going for. He then surveyed Chase's reaction. The Aussie appeared to be amusingly surprised. Taub, on the other hand, was staring in his direction in open-mouthed shock and then immediately snapped his trap shut when House looked at him. Why was he looking at him as if he knew that he knew who they came from? House shook his head. _Yeah, that was even too complicated for him to straighten out._

"Oh my God, these are so beautiful," she exclaimed as she tore the protective tissue from around the blossoms. Stifling a little gasp, she placed her fingers against her lips and sniffled a delicate little cry as she stared adoringly at her flowers. "Yellow roses with pink tipped edges. He remembered."

She flicked her eyes to his for only a brief second but in that moment he could see the depth of emotion in her gaze. House's heart flipped a little in his chest as he took in a breath. He had done good.

"Who sent you flowers?" Chase asked with a grin.

Blinking back some happy tears, Remy picked out the card and read it. She smiled brilliantly and stifled another little cry before stuffing it in the pocket of her lab coat for safekeeping. "The Boyfriend."

"Wow, two dozen roses, that's quite a statement," Taub uttered as he shifted to cross his legs comfortably in his seat.

Foreman scoffed and crossed his arms indignantly over his chest. "They're not even red. You send a woman red roses on Valentine's day."

Remy's head swiveled to her left to stab him with a glare. "These are my favorite flowers, you jerk. You would know that if you ever bothered to ask."

Foreman glared harshly back at her working his jaw in anger. "Whatever."

"Two dozen creamy yellow roses," Chase said rising from his chair. "I'd say the man definitely knows the way to her heart."

Remy smiled and leaned forward to smell one of the extra large blooms. "He knows me much better than he thinks he does." House watched her stick her nose into the delicate petals as he absorbed the meaning of her statement. Suddenly he began to feel very emotional and he drew his eyebrows together in a real scowl. He didn't know what he was feeling and that made him uncomfortable.

"So how come you're not mocking this whole charade?" Foreman suddenly questioned accusatorily at him. "You hate Valentine's Day and here it is practically close enough to create anaphylactic shock."

House looked at him and shrugged. It was true, he normally would have said something rude by now, but he was caught up in the emotion of the moment as he watched her. Plastering a look of disdain on his face, he had to make good on his character and stay true to form. "Who am I to begrudge a woman of her god given right to reap the benefits of corporate America and the fabrication of a holiday that keeps men shackled in human bondage?" He rose from his seat. "Enjoy your fake holiday. Oh and after you squirt the rest of your girly tears, go run the pathergy test for Behcet's."

And with that, he left the office to find refuge in Wilson's domain._ His work was done here_.

* * *

Remy's heart hadn't stopped somersaulting in her chest since she'd opened her gorgeous flowers. He remembered, right down to the last detail of the pink tipped edges. She shouldn't be surprised; he remembered everything. Of course he had to be a little bit of a douche bag to cover his tracks but she didn't care. She loved her flowers. She loved that he sent them. And she loved that it got under Foreman's saddle like a burr to chafe him raw. God, he was a master at pissing people off. He was utterly amazing.

"They really are lovely," Taub said giving her a secretive smirk. "A refreshing surprise."

Her lips quirked into a smile and she sniffed at the sweet aroma again. It smelled like pure Heaven.

"Well, at least one of us is in a happy, successful relationship," Chase muttered and then looked at Taub. "No offense."

Taub waved his hands dismissively. "None taken. I was cliché and sent my wife a meager dozen red roses."

"Who is this guy?" Foreman pegged her with a stare.

"He's just a guy," Remy answered with an indifferent shrug.

"Where'd you meet him?"

"Hooking," she replied dryly. "He pulled up in his Beemer and swept me off my blistered feet. It's a Cinderella story."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head derisively. "Does he work here at the hospital?"

Chase sat back down with his coffee. "She obviously doesn't want to tell you. So why don't you just drop it?"

"This guy buys her expensive jewelry and sends her her favorite kind of flower. So sue me, I'm a little curious. We dated for ten months, I gave you a bracelet that you never wore to work and I didn't even know what your favorite kind of flower was."

Remy stared at him. "And then you fired me _because_ I was your girlfriend. You can be curious, you're just not going to get anywhere with it." Standing, she took her phone out of her pocket. "I'm going to call _my boyfriend_ and thank him for my gorgeous present. Let me know what comes of the pathergy test."

With a little bit of well-deserved attitude, she sauntered out of the office on her cloud of elation pretending to push the send button on her phone. As soon as she cleared the corner, she slid her phone into her pocket next to his amazingly adorable little card and quickstepped it into Wilson's office.

Bursting through the door without preamble, she launched herself into House's arms and kissed him like she was drowning woman and he was her lifesaving oxygen. He was a little surprised by the intensity of her passion but dropped his cane and responded in kind by wrapping his long arms around her tightly. He returned her kiss with a desire that rivaled a starving man searching for water in the desert.

"By all means, feel free to just pretend like I'm not here," Wilson's bemused voice broke through their haze of desire.

Remy didn't care that he was there. Her focus narrowed in on the fantastic man whose hands were roaming all over her body and whose tongue was making sweet love to hers. The more she kissed him, the more the flames of her hunger grew for him. It had been way too long since he touched her with this kind of passion. It felt amazing and she couldn't stop until she had enough of him.

Without realizing it, they were moving backwards in a tangle of hands, touching and probing, kneading and pulling; their limbs intertwined like vines searching for a foothold as they glided toward the little couch on Wilson's back wall.

"Ahem… not by the window…" Wilson let out a strangled warning. Remy didn't even have to look at him to know he was blushing and god-awful uncomfortable by their exuberant display.

Suddenly, the blinds snapped closed and the door slammed shut leaving them alone in the cloud of their desire in the dimly lit office.

Remy wanted House so badly she could taste it. After all of the waiting, she was going to be the one to cave. She wanted him to make love to her right there in Wilson's office. She didn't care that they were at work, she didn't care that it was in the middle of the morning and they had a patient. All she wanted was his hands on her, her skin touching his, linked to him in the most intimate way possible. She wanted him to fuck her brains out over the desk, or against the wall, maybe even the little couch. Anywhere, she didn't care. She was wanton and horny and he had just given her beautiful flowers. There couldn't be a better reason than that.

Somehow of their own volition, they inched closer to the small couch. When his legs hit the edge, she pushed him back against the cushions with a thud and straddled his lap with a triumphant smile. He let out a startled laugh as the rest of the air gushed out of his lungs from the force. Devouring his mouth again, Remy shoved her hands into his jacket and pushed the course fabric off his shoulders. Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt and she ground her hips against the rising bulge in his jeans. God, she was so hot for him she might not even let him take his pants off. Excitedly, she flung off her lab coat and went back to kissing him senseless.

His hands came up to slip under the hem of her sweater pulling it off over her head. His fingertips roamed all over her body coming up to cup her breasts in his palms. He squeezed them gently massaging their fullness as they swelled with an ache to be free from the restraints of the silk bra she wore. Pulling her to him, he buried his face between them and placed kisses on her sensitive skin, exciting it to gooseflesh with the tickle of his beard. Throwing her head back on a moan, Remy raked her fingers through his hair as he pulled the edge of her bra down and took one of her taut nipples into his mouth. She nearly rocketed off of him as the sensation shot through her and pooled in between her legs to a slow moist burn. His tongue was magic, whether it was kissing her or swirling around the sensitive peaks of her breasts. Nothing felt better than this. They couldn't have stopped now if they tried.

Dragging his head away from her, he looked into her eyes and relinquished all control over to her. He let his head loll back against the edge of the couch as he watched her with a seductive smile on his lips. He laughed a little as she opened the top button of his jeans and slipped her hand inside to grab his hardness. Letting out a groan as she squeezed his full shaft, he brought his laser blue eyes to hers. "I take it you really liked the flowers."

"I loved the flowers," she said breathlessly and moved off of his lap to kneel in front of him.

He blinked and looked around the room in a daze. "Wilson's not still here is he?"

"No," she giggled and slipped her hands inside the waistband of his boxers to push his pants down to his ankles. "He left before we made it to the couch."

"Good," he replied and then groaned out loud as she ran her hand up the length of his cock. Remy savored the soft tautness of his skin against her palm as his member twitched to near bursting from her touch. He was so beautiful he made her ache with craving.

Slowly, she wet the length of him with her tongue from base to tip. He sighed in pleasure bringing his hands up to brush her hair out of the way so he could see what she was doing. The simple movement made her actions so much more intimate and threw gasoline on their flames. Her tongue worked him into a state of incoherence as she sucked him taking him deep into her mouth. She could hear him groan something unintelligible above her when she cupped his balls in her hand gently moving them around to heighten his pleasure. She loved that she could silence him like this, that she had such control over him that she could make him inarticulate with desire for her.

His breathing was coming in heavy drags and she briefly contemplated taking him to finish in her mouth. However, she had missed the feel of him too much. She wanted him inside her. She wanted them both to come to the precipice together.

She stood slowly keeping her gaze locked with his and undid the zipper to her pants. He watched her intently as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slid them down together with her slacks. Kicking both of her shoes off, she stepped out of the trousers leaving them in a pool on the floor. A small smile crossed his lips as he reached out for her smoothing his palm along the contour of her hip. He made her feel so beautiful when he looked at her like that. It was like she was the only woman who existed in the world to him. His gaze was so warm, so tender. And what had started as a reckless frolic turned effortlessly into a simmering, loving expression of how they truly felt about each other.

House took her hand and guided her back to him bringing her to straddle his lap again. His hands traveled up the plane of her stomach to hover and caress her heart. His long fingers stopped and held the gleaming sapphire pendant he had given her. She would never forget his shy smile when he bought it for her and placed it on her neck. Now the color of his eyes rivaled the brilliant blue of the precious stone and she thought her heart might burst when his fingers curled around her neck and he kissed her with such reverence.

Slowly she moved over him and took the length of him into her. They both gasped as the sensation of being joined once again overwhelmed them. Remy stilled, enjoying the feeling of his fullness inside of her breathing in the scent of his hair and skin. Looking into his eyes, she could see the raw emotion there and the recognition of what he had written in her card. Her heart swelled with genuine pride and the knowledge that they had come full circle. They were back to the passion that had drawn them together and blessed with the intimacy of the emotional bonds they had forged. They had become stronger for it.

Remy took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, little by little beginning to move over him drawing him deep inside her. She stroked him, slowly, deeply, feeling every hard inch of him as his hands worshiped her body. They savored the experience of each other as it felt like ages since they had done this before. Each motion, each touch stroking the flames of their desire for one another. Gradually, their breath and their movements became fiercer as the burn of the release swelled behind the gateway. It wasn't going to last long; it had been too long since they had made love to draw it out slowly. That they could do at home, later. Rocking her hips, she picked up the rhythm matching the pace of her heart racing in her ears. She felt him tense and dig his fingers into her hips groaning outwardly as he let go, succumbing to the powerful orgasm that shook his body beneath her. Two more strokes and her body tumbled over into its own pulsing release, milking him further into her. He held onto her tightly as her aftershocks squeezed him threatening to overwhelm his post orgasmic sensitivity.

Remy breathed hard and buried her face against his neck. She could feel his pulse jack hammering in his veins and the soft sheen of sweat on his skin. She immersed herself in the smell of him, fresh clean scent of man, fireplace and Irish spring. They stayed coupled together for as long as they could before he retracted and slipped out of her as they came back down to reality. He brought his hand to the back of her head and kissed her forehead. He took a deep breath and then began to laugh.

Rising up to look at him, Remy smiled, confused as to why he was laughing. "What?"

"God I've always wanted to do that," he said with a merry triumph, his voice still breathless from their lovemaking.

"Do what?" she asked him curiously.

"Have sex on Wilson's couch."

Remy laughed and dropped her head to his shoulder. Chuckling deeply within his chest, he marveled at his own personal achievement.

She ran her hand over his chest, playing with the little hairs. "I'm like Disney," she quipped. "I make dreams come true."

"Ain't that the truth," he said and then sat up taking her with him so he could reach over to the coffee table to grab the box of tissues.

They cleaned up and made sure Wilson's office was back in order after redressing themselves. House zipped up his pants and fastened the button before pulling her back into his arms for one last, slow seductive kiss. "Remind me to buy you flowers more often."

Remy grabbed his face between her hands. "You can buy me whatever you want as long as the card always says the same thing."

"'_You are not an addiction'_," he verbalized the sentiment he had written on the little card as he looked deep into her eyes. His gaze went straight to her heart and the muscle thumped in her chest like it did when she first read it.

"I…" her voice caught in her throat and she struggled to breathe from the overwhelming ache in her chest.

"Shh," he smiled silencing her with a tiny kiss. "We'll finish this later."

Remy nodded, understanding that he didn't want to have an emotional conversation about his true feelings here in Wilson's office. Their making love was enough.

"Aren't you supposed to be running a Behcet's test?" he grinned at her.

Remy cocked her head to the side. "I delegated."

"Oh?"

"I had a personal issue to take care of," she replied.

"I see," he said and then tapped her forehead. "Sleeping with the boss is going to your head, missy."

"It should earn me some perks," she laughed and then stepped out of his embrace. She doubled back when he remained in the center of the room. "Aren't you coming?"

"I'm supposed to be brooding about how stupid Valentine's Day is," he said. "I'll resurface later to gloat about how I was right about the Behcet's."

"I was the one who brought it up," Remy pouted.

He shook his head at her. "I knew it was Behcet's when I woke up this morning. I was just killing time until your flowers came."

"Fine," she said dejectedly.

"You do get 1000 points for being the first of the idiots to figure it out, though."

"Awesome," she grinned at him and gave him a peck on the lips. "I'll see you later."

Remy's fingers never left her lips as she rode the elevator to their patient's room.

She was deeply in love with Greg House. She knew it now. And she suspected that now he knew it for himself, as well. Maybe he didn't want to say just yet, but she felt it and she was going to bask in it for as long as she could.

* * *

_A/N: FINALLY!!! Boy oh boy was that fun to write... This takes them to the next stage in their relationship so don' t think this is over yet! This story still has quite a few legs to go._

_Thank you to all who have reviewed, alerted and favorited. I love and cherish your continuous support. Spot your are the best. Vanamo, i can not brainstorm without you... i think i might be addicted!_

_Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Cheers!_


	19. Chapter 19

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 19

"Coffee fairy's come to deliver your morning fix," Remy sang merily carrying two extra large mugs into the bedroom.

Hugging his pillow as he lay on his side, House opened his eyes and then immediately scowled. "Is Wilson out there?"

"Yup. He made the coffee." She came over and placed his mug on the nightstand, bending over to place a kiss on his forehead.

"You went out there like that?" he questioned running his hand down her side. She was wearing nothing but a thin white tank top that he could see her breasts through as she bent over. His eyes skimmed down lower to a pair of pink and turquoise striped boy shorts that made the sexy little curve of her derrière stick out. _God, she was a siren_. And practically naked in front of his best friend.

She gave him a saucy, lopsided grin and put her cup down next to his. Reaching out for her, he swiftly dragged her down onto the bed and pulled her over his naked lap covered by the blankets. "Those are my ass cheeks, don't go flaunting them to every philandering Wilson out there. I think he's got enough of a mental picture of you already." She squealed in delight as he leaned over and kissed her neck while running his hand over the exposed part he was talking about. "He said we defiled his office. And it smells like sex."

"We did. And it does. And he was _so_ not looking at my ass," she giggled and then dropped her voice to a whisper. "Nora stayed over last night."

"Really?" House was surprised.

"Yeah," she smiled. "He was grinning from ear to ear as he fixed her a little plate of fruit and cheese for breakfast. It was sweet."

After hearing Wilson talk to Amber every night for the past six months, House was surprised to see his best friend back in the saddle again. _Good for him, Nora was hot._

Good for them all actually. Three cheers for being back in the saddle. It felt so good to be able to have an orgasm and not have to aim it away from the shower curtain. Valentine's Day was good all around.

"You didn't bring me any food?" he pouted at her. "I cook you eggs Florentine after our first night together and this is the thanks I get? Sheesh."

"I can go back out and make you a bowl of Trix," she replied. "That's about all the skills I've got."

House brushed his hand over her cheek. That wasn't a lie. Cereal and canned soup were the extent of her cooking skills, which was fine because he liked her for her other fine talents. Cooking in the kitchen was not one of them.

"Coffee's good," he said and gave her a kiss.

"Good," she said and then rolled out of his arms to her side of the bed where she situated herself onto her stomach and reached for a medical journal that was on the nightstand.

It was Saturday. Saturday mornings were the best mornings of the week. They could sleep late, lounge around in bed, have coffee and read. It was House's favorite day. He wasn't obligated to be at work. He didn't have anywhere he had to be or anyone he had to answer to. It was just perfect. This particular weekend, it was fantastic because they were having sex again. Hanging out in bed for hours and having morning sex were his two favorite ways to spend time. Right now, however, he needed the coffee. The sex part would come after the blood started to circulate a little bit. They could work up a hunger and then he'd go cook them a proper breakfast. They had shared this routine for the last couple of weeks since she'd started sleeping over. Just without the sex part. Now, it would be a prefect added little bonus.

After their romp in Wilson's office yesterday, they both wound up down in the clinic swabbing throat after throat for strep. Evidently there was a grade school epidemic because it was an endless stream of sick children and their persnickety parents looking to get some medicine before the long three day weekend for President's Day. They were exhausted by the time they made it to the loft. Remy had showered and House fell asleep in his clothes on top of the covers. Some time around 1 AM, they woke up, made love and then crashed again. It wasn't the most romantic Valentine's Night ever, but that had happened way earlier in the day for them. After that, it was all gravy anyway, in House's opinion.

House sipped his coffee and flipped through the pages of his magazine looking for an interesting article to read. She held her hand out while she read and he placed her mug in it without even thinking about it. Little things like that had started to crop up lately. They were starting to communicate without speaking. She'd bring him things he hadn't asked for but needed. He'd take care of some of the things she hated to do like folding her laundry. They'd finish each other's sentences and had full conversations in front of the team without even saying a word. It was strange yet comfortable.

Foreman still had no idea about their relationship and House was content to keep it that way. He didn't want the drama of all that. She had adorably reenacted Foreman's Q and A for him after he left the office to go to Wilson's. And she confessed that she had confided in Taub a couple of weeks ago because he had smelled him on her. Crazy little Jew with the big sniffer. No wonder he was looking at him the way he did when the flowers came. Little fucker looked astonished. Well, it was extremely out of character for him to send roses to anyone if it wasn't a joke so, he'd give the little troll that. But she had said that her newest BFFL had approved of their relationship and for some stupid reason that made House happy. Not that he really cared what Chris Taub thought of him but he was glad that Remy had someone on her side because the shit was going to hit the fan when it got out that they were together. Never mind just the Foreman fallout, she was going to be the talk of the entire hospital. The woman who was sleeping with her literally insane boss right in front of her robotic ex-boyfriend. They were like an episode of Jerry Springer just waiting to implode.

House never really gave a shit about what people thought of him, but for her sake, he didn't want her to have to endure that. Gossip was annoying and demeaning. Of course, he could bask in it all day when it came to celebrities and their foibles but when it came to her, he wanted to spare her the nuisance if at all he could.

Sadly, there was nothing interesting in _Cosmo_ this month. He wasn't in the market to give his man a mind-blowing orgasm and he really didn't need to know whether or not shimmer blue eye shadow was the hot rage this spring, his eyes were blue enough. Closing his magazine, he drained the last of his coffee and placed both the cup and magazine on the nightstand. He scooched down to lie on his side and propped his head up on his knuckles. And just watched her.

The sunlight was bright this morning whitewashing the walls and sheets in a clean alabaster glow. The light made her look so earthy and real; beautiful warm skin, shiny chestnut hair, icy blue eyes. Lying on her stomach and propped up on her elbows, her lithe body curved in an elegant sweep from the delicate vertebrae at her neck to the soft rounded curve of her ass. Her feet came up to cross at the ankles and sway back and forth in a silent time to the tempo in her head. She had her hair tucked back behind her ears so it wouldn't hang in her face while she read just like she always did when she was reviewing a case file. Her eyes flicked back and forth quickly as she skimmed over the words inside the article she was reading. She was intently focused. He could tell because her full lower lip hung just slightly open in concentration and the pad of her middle finger ran rhythmically over the pink softness.

He read the title upside down, _53-Year-Old Man with Arthralgias, Oral Ulcers, Vision Loss, and Vocal-Cord Paralysis. _That was probably an interesting article. He'd be sure to read it later. Right now he was content to just look at her.

She was so beautiful she took his breath away. Beautiful and smart… he'd always known that even way back in the beginning. He was still amazed that after all this time she was still here, still with him. She was a good doctor and after three years of working for him she could have gone anywhere but she came back. She made the choice to be with him. Of course he stalked her, but she accepted that about him. It amused her.

And then he had kissed her on some whim of Christmas fancy. He had taken a chance of monumental proportions and to his astonishment it didn't blow up in his face. He was surprised to discover he wanted a relationship with her. In trying to figure out how they felt about each other, he had learned more about himself that he could have imagined. He had surprised himself again when he had tried things he never would have attempted if it weren't in the name of growing closer to her. She inspired him and challenged him. He learned new things and he became ok with experiencing change. Some of it was because of his therapy, but a lot of it was because of her positive view of life. She wasn't Pollyanna optimistic, because she had her own truths that kept her grounded in reality. She was authentic, because she was willing to take the risk. She wasn't afraid to fail and that had carried over to him. He was naturally good at everything he did except for interpersonal relationships. He had to work hard on them, but she was patient with him. She didn't expect anything from him other than genuine honesty and he had been more truthful with her than he had been with anyone in his entire adult life. He liked who he had become. He felt truly sane for the first time since before his infarction. The constant ache in his chest that event had left had been replaced with contentment. His life was far from perfect, but it was marginally closer to something good and that made him exceedingly happy.

"I love you."

His voice hitched a little and it came out quiet, softly in the silence of the room, but he had said it. He knew she heard it because her eyes turned to him like she couldn't believe it. He swallowed softly and waited to see what she would do. He didn't expect her to say it back; he just needed her to know after everything they'd shared, just how much he felt for her.

Leaving her magazine, she silently crawled over to him and placed her hands on his chest leaning him back against the pillows. Their eyes met and they held each other's gaze for a long, flawless moment before she touched his lips gently with hers. Slowly she pulled back from him, sweet raw emotion in her eyes. A little smile tipped at the corners of her lips and her eyes glistened in the sunlight. "I love you too."

He hadn't expected to hear her to say it, but he was so moved when she did. Those three little words on her lips were the greatest thing he had ever heard.

His hand curled behind her neck and he kissed her with a passion he couldn't put words to. He loved her, that was enough.

Slowly he laid her back down against the bed, kissing her with an intensity that gave them both chills. She responded with soft little moans as her hands roamed over his back and shoulders, touching and feeling him. He did the same, softly brushing the backs of his fingers down her face and neck to the swell of her breasts. She moved fluidly under him as he trailed his lips down the elegant column of her neck where he paused briefly and nipped at the delicate bow of her collarbone. He brought his hand down to her stomach and then slipped his fingers upward to help her take her top off. As she held her arms overhead while he removed the thin cotton, she accidentally knocked the medical journal to the floor. Too preoccupied to care, they both ignored the soft noise of paper hitting the floor, instead continuing their affectionate reverence of each other.

She touched her hand to his brow, lovingly gazing into his eyes like he was the only man she had ever looked at before. House's heart swelled with pride and he felt so confident in all of the decisions he had made for himself when it came to her. He kissed her dipping his tongue into her mouth reveling in the slick heat as her tongue tangled with his. They stole each other's breath, breathing in tandem, their hearts linking in a syncopated rhythm. Sighing in pleasure, she ran her fingertips through the back of his hair as he brought his lips to kiss each of her breasts. She purred like a kitten under his tongue and he took pleasure in the desire he was creating within her. She was like magic under him, she always had been. Every touch elicited a sigh, every kiss a deeper moan. His hands touched her shoulders, her chest, the delicate sweep of her side, down her hip and thigh to the backs of her knees. Her skin was like liquid silk under his fingertips and he couldn't get enough of her.

Slipping his fingers inside her panties, he lowered them inch by inch down her longs legs until she was fully exposed to him. He had made love to her last night but that was a hurried primal coupling that had them both screaming out their climax. This time he wanted to savor every second. He wanted every touch to be profound. They had just confessed their love for each other and there could be nothing more satisfying than sealing that bond by making sweet love to her. He wanted it to last forever.

Trailing his fingers down the curve of her inner thigh, she opened her legs so he could have access to her. She had always read his intentions like it was her intuition, like they had been choreographed by something greater than them. Gently, he touched his fingers to her moist heat. She was hot and ready for him but he wanted to bring her higher, make her crave. Slowly, he circulated the pad his thumb around her clitoris as he kissed her, moving his tongue in the same circular motion as his thumb. With every flutter, she arched closer to him as her arousal deepened making her beg for him to position himself in between her legs. He prolonged the sweet torture as his slipped a finger into her, stroking her. She cried out pleading with him, begging him with her eyes to join with her.

When she could not bear it any longer, he moved between her gorgeous legs and rested his hands on either side of her head. Her hands came up to run along the length of his sides and back and her eyes connected with his. The deep shade of slate coursed through him as he felt her desire and love for him tangible in her gaze. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he watched her gasp, arching her back in ecstasy as he entered her. He continued to kiss her then, sealing in the desire he felt for her and adding to the erotic pleasure it was to be inside of her. She was pure velvet heat, tight and smooth around him. When he thought he couldn't be more connected to her, she brought her knees up and wrapped her legs around his waist bringing him deeper into her. He began to move then, plunging into her slowly, deliberately taking his time until she was writhing beneath him. Her breath was coming in feverish pants and he could feel his pulse race in his ears as her feline sounds pushed him to a new height of eroticism.

"Oh God, Greg, yes," she cried out. He loved the sound of his name on her lips. It was so intimate, so personal. He drove into her then, faster and harder until she exploded around him, her rhythmic pulsing pulling him into the depths of his own climax. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, grunting against the after shocks as he came hard into her. She was pure ecstasy.

Sated and blissful, they stayed joined together holding onto each other, bound to one another body and soul. He had never made love like that before. He had never felt so open and connected to someone. He lifted his head away from the curve of her neck to look into her eyes. The gray orbs glistened with shimmering tears. Her hand came to touch his face and one lone tear slipped from the corner of her lid down into her hair. He brushed the wet track gently with his thumb and kissed her cheek. She smiled beautifully at him and said, "You make me so incredibly happy."

House closed his eyes and placed his forehead on hers. "_You_ make _me_ happy."

And that was the pure truth. He was happy. He was in love. And he was sane.

* * *

_A/N: So now they're in love. Both happy and content. Strange as though it may be for him, he's worked hard to get where he is. So what does that mean for them? Will they be able to sustain it? Foreman still doesn't know. Chase still doesn't know. Cuddy still doesn't know.... how will that all go down and will the pressure of a real relationship be too much for House? And what about Thirteen? Will she be content to just be with him or will she want or need more?_

_Discuss. _


	20. Chapter 20

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 20

March came and went like a lion and out like a lamb. House and Remy's relationship since declaring their love for each other had essentially followed the same pattern. They had made love like sex starved teenagers for weeks until neither one of them could walk the halls of the hospital anymore. Remy had gained ten pounds from eating his amazing food and then subsequently burned off all the calories having sex in each and every place they could possibly dream up. After weeks of sating their primal need for each other, they had settled into a lovely routine. They had become more loving, more caring and more comfortable with each other than either one of them thought was possible. It was sweet and nice. And they were both content.

Foreman had left Remy alone after a while apparently conceding defeat to the mysterious "Boyfriend". He had begun to ignore Remy and that was fine with her. It made her job easier and her life with House easier because the drama at work didn't cause tension between them as boss and employee. Now it was just the stress of working too many hours for too many days straight. Sometimes they were a little too close to each other and that caused some flare ups which Wilson and Taub seemed to be able to put out with a well placed coffee and shoulder to bitch on.

Things were getting hot and heavy with Cuddy and the adorable detective Lucas. There had been rumors of a possible engagement floating around but Remy had reserved her judgment on that. She'd believe it when she saw it. There was still something simmering under the surface for House, Remy could see it every time the hospital administrator talked to him. If it wasn't frustration it was something else. Remy didn't see the same thing in House anymore for his boss like he once had, but for Cuddy it was like a beacon. And yet, every time Cuddy was seen with Lucas there was pure joy in her eyes, so Remy was confused. Maybe Cuddy deeply loved House, just as Remy herself did, but knew there was never a possibility of them being together so she had moved on with her life, content that all they would ever be was friends. Remy really didn't care. She was the woman in House's life and he had made it abundantly clear just how much she meant to him.

House had told Nolan that he loved her and Nolan had congratulated him on his next step into becoming a real boy again. House still saw him once a week, because it kept him level and he had even started to talk in future terms of _next month, next year, one day_. They both had continued to do yoga together to help them maintain inner balance and physical strength and flexibility. Pottery and bowling were fewer and further between but that was fine. Most of the time, they were content to just stay home and snuggle on the couch by the fire after a long day.

Things were good. They were happy.

One member of the team was not so happy, however. Chase had a bout of some serious drinking right after the divorce papers showed up. House had to pick him up from a bar a few times in the middle of the night and at one point had to interrupt a surgery because Chase was still drunk from the night before. He had covered up the young doctor's mistake somehow, some way; Remy didn't even want to know. There was as strange bond between the two despite the cantankerous bickering they did and Remy just looked the other way. House didn't really talk about it and Chase was tight lipped around her anyway. She felt bad for the poor guy. He had loved Cameron so much that he was utterly devastated by their split. He had started seeing some woman recently but that hadn't seemed to make his heartache go away. It was sad really, now that Remy had found such love. She wished for everyone to be as happy as she was.

"There's a strange spot over here in the carpet," Chase called to Remy as she took a sample of the water from the kitchen faucet.

"What's it look like?"

"Brown, muddy, moldy maybe," he guessed.

"So cut a few fibers and bag it," Remy told him as she bent under the cabinet to swab the drainpipe. That, too, had mold.

"It looks like a plant used to be here," he surmised bending down to extract the samples. "Like a big potted tree or something."

Remy stood up and looked around the condo. She didn't immediately see any potted plants in the living room and dining room area. "I wonder if she moved it?"

"Could be, there's not a lot of sun over here," he said looking at the window behind him.

They wandered around the home for a bit until they came to a set of stairs with a bead curtain hanging in the archway. Remy pushed back the multicolored wooden strands and ducked her head as she headed down the steps, Chase following her. As soon as she passed the level of the floor from above, the wall cut out to open into the room below. She could see tons of plants. Hundreds. The woman had a virtual greenhouse going on down in her basement. All of them exotic plants in pots on the floor, hanging from the ceiling in rows, or on benches by the windows.

"Good, God, she's got a hydroponics lab down here," Chase exclaimed as he stepped down into the cement floor.

"She's growing tomatoes, lettuce, green beans, strawberries…" Remy said weeding her way through the rows. "Damn, these are like the reddest berries I've ever seen. They look so juicy."

"Don't eat anything," Chase warned.

"I won't," Remy rolled her eyes. _They were here to find toxins, did he think she was stupid? _

"She must use some kind of pesticide to keep bugs off," Chase said admiring a gleaming read tomato.

"She's an earthy crunchy vegan," Remy said moving onto a lemon tree by the sliding glass door. "I doubt she'd use anything chemical."

"Well, we should take some samples," Chase said.

They got busy collecting various sample of fruits and vegetables and soil. They took some from the bottles and jar she had on a workbench near the stairs as well as some from a cabinet around the corner.

Leaving the condo with their samples, they stowed them in Remy's trunk and drove away.

"I need to tell you something," Chase said sheepishly after some moments as Remy came to a red light.

She looked at him curiously. "What?"

"Foreman thinks I'm your mystery boyfriend," he told her plainly.

Remy blinked at him in shock. "What? Why would he think that?" _God, he was still on that? Why couldn't he just let it go and move on?_

"Because you won't tell him who this guy is," he shrugged. "He thinks you're hiding it from him because it's me."

The light turned green and Remy drove ahead. She slid her eyes to him contemplating what he had just told her. "That's ridiculous."

"I know," he said. "The further it goes, the more paranoid he gets."

Remy rolled her eyes. "Eric doesn't get paranoid. Eric doesn't feel anything."

"You're wrong," Chase told her. "He's crazy in love with you."

Remy frowned and shook her head. "No he's not. He's just jealous because he fucked up and lost me. And now he can't stand it."

"He's been crazy in love with you from the beginning," Chase said.

"He was never in love with me," Remy objected. "He was more concerned about himself."

"He almost lost his whole career for you," Chase argued bringing up the Huntington's trial debacle. His accent was getting thicker as his emotions rose.

"I never asked him to do that!" Remy exclaimed. "He did all of that on his own and nearly killed me in the process."

"Because House told him to do it if he loved you," Chase replied.

Remy rolled her eyes. "House didn't twist his arm, that had nothing to do with House…"

"House puts himself in situations that are none of his damned business," Chase ground out derisively. "He's always manipulated the situation like we're pawns in his game."

"Hey, he's bailed your ass out more than a few times lately," Remy stated pointedly.

"Why are you defending him?"

"Who?"

"House," he replied.

Remy was quiet for a moment. They were getting into dangerous territory. She wasn't even really supposed to know about that. Sighing, she blew her bangs up with her breath. "He's not the same. You know that," she said, trying not to let her emotions for her lover cloud her voice. "He may push your buttons but ultimately he looks out for you."

"I don't understand why," Chase said quietly.

Remy shrugged. "Maybe it's his way of making amends." She knew that was the case. He really did feel a little responsible for what went down with Cameron even though logically it wasn't his fault. He has tainted everyone's life to some extent and that bothered him deep under the surface. He had been trying to repent in various tiny ways since.

Chase frowned wryly and looked out the window. "The speed limit is twenty five here."

"No it's not. This is a huge road. It can't be twenty five," Remy said looking around for a sign.

"We just passed a sign back there," Chase pointed out. "And it's a school zone."

Remy saw the cop just as her car whizzed past him. "Shit."

* * *

Remy was so pissed off. How could this be possible? The cops had impounded her car. All she did was 45 miles an hour in a school zone. Granted, the kids were out for recess, but it wasn't like she was four wheeling through the playground in her Audi, looking to mow down some kids.

They were sitting at one of the grungy desks in the police station. The cop was saying something about her car being involved in a hit and run with a dog and something like twelve speeding and parking tickets. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"I never got those tickets," she told him.

"Ma'am, these speeding tickets range from the dates of January 25th to March 31st," he informed her and consulted his computer. "And six unpaid parking tickets, all for unlawful use of handicapped parking from January 20th to April 1st."

"Excuse me, what?" she blinked incredulously.

"Parking in a handicapped spot without a handicapped tag," he repeated.

_House! What the fuck?_ She was going to kill him. Chase sniggered in his seat. "Oh, he's changed…. He's different now," he mocked her.

"Shut up," she muttered. She took a breath and looked at the officer. "What is this about a hit and run and… umm," she swallowed, "… a dog?"

"Your vehicle was reported in a hit and run accident involving a woman walking her dog on March 31st."

Remy covered her mouth with her hand in total disbelief. That was like two weeks ago. "A dog?"

Chase sniggered louder, now full out laughing. "He killed a dog?!"

"No, the dog is not deceased, but sustained injuries to his left rear paw and needed to be transported to a local animal hospital," the young officer told her.

"Oh, he didn't _kill_ the dog, he just _ran it over_ and then _left_ the scene of an accident," Chase guffawed clearly enjoying this immensely. "This is fucking priceless."

Remy was mortified and thoroughly pissed. House was driving her car without her knowledge and getting speeding tickets, parking tickets and hitting animals and not telling her about it! _What the fuck?_

"Um Officer Keenan, may I use the phone?" Remy asked politely, trying to keep the fury out of her voice. "I need to make a call."

"Sure," the officer handed her the desk phone for her to use since he had confiscated both hers and Chase's cell phones when he hand cuffed them and brought them to the police station.

Remy dialed his cell phone first. It rang, and rang and it went to voice mail. "_Unless you're dying, I don't care. Don't leave a message because, seriously… I. Don't. Care._"

Remy pushed the little button on the cradle of the phone and then smiled sweetly at the officer. "No one's there. I'm just gonna try another number." She called the office. He better be searching for porn at his desk or she was seriously going to kill him, slowly.

"House," he answered gruffly. _Oh thank God_!

"Hello," she said with measured patience.

"Why are you calling? Aren't you and the dingo supposed to be collecting samples from Trail mix Girl's house? And where's my lunch?"

Remy squeezed the bridge of her nose in between her eyes willing herself to have patience. "_We_ are at the police station."

House chuckled into the receiver. "What'd you do, get pinched for B and E?"

"No, funny you should ask," she said twirling the cord around her finger and glaring at Chase who was still tickled by this whole episode. "My car was impounded."

"Fuck. Why? What did you do?"

"See it's really not anything I did, " she told him. "Someone has been driving my car while I'm at work. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

There was long silence on the other end. "Umm…. I'll be right down."

"Good," she hung up the phone.

_Right down, her ass_. Forty-five minutes later he strolled in. Remy was fit to be tied by then. She wasn't sure whether to eviscerate him with his cane or be thankful that he actually showed up.

House limped over toward where they were sitting wearing his black sport coat over a black dress shirt. She had forgotten he put that on this morning. _Fuck, he was so sexy in that._ It was her favorite. Lucky for him, because she was going to have to fuck him first for one last hoorah before she bludgeoned him to death with a brick.

Once he saw them, he quickened his step and stopped directly in front of her. He had a strange look on his face and Remy was momentarily confused into silence. But that was when he swooped in shocking everyone, including Officer Keenan, in turn.

"Oh Remy, I'm so, so sorry," he began, pulling her hastily to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, hugged her quick and then pulled back and placed a kiss on her lips. When he let go of her, she almost fell over in astonishment. _What the hell was he doing?_ He frowned sympathetically at her and carried on, "Sweetie, I can't imagine what you we're going through sitting here waiting, but I'm sorry to say, you're father wandered off again."

Remy blinked her eyes, stunned. "What?"

House placed his hand on her face and Remy stared at him like she had no idea who he was. She slid her eyes to Chase and he looked about the same. _Flabbergasted was an understatement_.

"Now don't get worried, _Babycakes_," House dramatically continued his charade in that icky sweet voice he used when he was lying like a rug. "We found him, he took my car and drove to meet Lucille for coffee. You brother went to get him."

"What?" Remy shook her head in complete shock. She didn't have a brother. _What the fuck was he talking about? He didn't even know her father and who was Lucille?_

House turned to the policeman. "You see, my father-in-law just wanders off from time to time. The dementia has gotten so much worse over the past few months. It's been really bad since his lady friend Lucille passed. He's taken Remy's car many times and wouldn't come back for hours. We've taken the keys but we're seriously going to have to consider putting him in a home." He leaned in closer to the policeman. "She's very sensitive about it."

Remy gaped at him, sucking wind like a fish. She almost laughed out loud in hysterics because it was so insanely ridiculous. But the cloud of shock was beginning to lift and she started to understand what he was doing. She looked at him and he winked at her. Touching his arm, she took his hand and took a breath to calm herself. Clearing her throat, she said, "Officer Keenan, this is my adoring, filthy rich husband."

Chase nearly choked on his saliva.

Remy squeezed House's hand in a vice grip and he yanked it from her grasp to shake the officer's hand giving her a little glare for squeezing his metacarpal bones together. "Hi, Greg House. Rich husband."

The officer shook his hand and House looked back at her with a fake beaming, doting smile.

"Sweetie, are you sure Dad's ok?" she played along, in a saccharine voice. She heard Chase snort in disbelief behind her.

"Yes, Wilson found him standing in the middle of the street just staring at the coffee shop. He said it was heartbreaking." _Oh my God, he actually got choked up._

"Oh baby it's ok," she said and then turned adoringly sad eyes to the police officer. "They're very close, Daddy and Greg, since they went to school together, way back when."

House glared at her little dig and she shot a fiery glare back at him. Well shit, if he was going to lie like a two dollar whore to get himself out of this mess then she was going to make him work for it. _Stealing her car… honestly… he was so dead._ House looked at her for a moment and scowled but then nodded his head in acceptance turning back to the cop. "Frat buddies. He was… _years_ ahead of me, like five, he flunked out the first two years. The Alzheimer's was a very early onset."

The young police officer looked like he was caught in the midst of a crazy soap opera, but he was bored. He'd probably seen all sorts. "That's very touching, sir, but your wife's car has been part of a hit and run accident."

House plastered a shocked look on his face and covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh my God, really?"

Remy almost wet her pants, he was playing it up so thick.

"Yes, sir, apparently your father-in-law hit a dog," the officer told him, falling for the scheme hook line and sinker.

Remy watched House close his eyes in mock dismay to keep from breaking character. Chase paced back and forth behind them at a complete loss for the bizarre drama unfolding before his eyes. Frankly if Remy wasn't standing right there, she wouldn't believe it either. Taub was going to bust a gut when he heard about this, wishing that he could have been there to witness it first hand.

"Under such circumstances, we would arrest the person and execute a fine for knowingly leaving the scene of an accident that caused bodily harm or property damage, section 39:4-129D," the officer told him.

"Oh no, sweetie, they can't arrest Daddy," she tugged on his arm. "Baby, take out your checkbook and just pay the fine." House turned to her and gave her a glare as she took control over his play. She pouted exaggeratedly at him. This was his game, he started it, she was just going for the Oscar. "He can just write a check for all of the tickets and the fine, right? Please don't arrest my father, he's just a crazy old man, who really belongs in a home."

"That will be $2850."

House almost had a heart attack. All she had to do was raise an eyebrow at him and he took out his checkbook from the breast pocket of his coat.

The officer nodded and drew up the paperwork so they could get out of there.

Relieved, but still seriously pissed off, Remy punched House in the arm while the officer wasn't looking. He shrugged at her and she nailed him with a glare so fierce that if she willed it just a little bit more maybe he might burst into flames. All he did was roll his eyes and then smirk at her. Damn him. _Why did he have to be so fucking cute? No Remy, he ran over a dog…..a dog!_

Ten minutes later, they walked over to the impound lot and the attendant brought out the car after checking the paperwork. Wilson had dropped off House so the bastard was stuck without a ride back. Remy had thought twice about just leaving his ass there but he had paid almost three thousand dollars in his own fines so she took pity on him and let him ride in her car.

"You two are out of you're mind," Chase said in disbelief taking his seat in the back.

"What? I saved her from being sent to the slammer for running over a dog," House defended himself. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Uh, tell the truth," Chase suggested sarcastically.

"Oh yeah, like you should talk," House tossed back over the seat at him. Remy caught the glare from Chase in her review mirror but didn't want to know what that little exchange was all about.

Fuming, Remy drove them back to the hospital. She was silent for a while, stewing. House just sat in the front seat, spinning his cane between his palms contemplatively. Occasionally, he slid his eyes to her to check on her state of mind but then he'd flick his eyes away quickly when she'd deign to look at him. As she came to a red light, she turned her head fully to stare at him, nailing him in the seat with her anger. "I can't believe you drove my car without asking."

House looked at her. "It's really cute you're still amazed that I would do that." A little smile quirked at the corners of his mouth as he peered at her from under his eyes lashes with those oh so not-innocent, laser blue eyes.

Frowning at him she rolled her eyes. _Damn him… why she was such a sucker for those eyes?_ "Why would you do that?" she demanded.

"Your car has seat heaters," he told her matter-of-factly. "My delicate tuckus doesn't like the freezing cold."

Remy rolled her eyes again. "So you stole my car?"

"Stole is really such a harsh word," House said flashing her an innocent look from his seat. "Borrowed is a better word. Or used…"

"You hit a dog?" Remy still couldn't believe that. _Whatever happened to 'Do no Harm'_?

"That was no dog, it was a moose." House argued defensively. "I think it bit the bumper."

Remy looked at him incredulously. "You still hit an animal and then left the scene."

House opened his mouth and then closed it on a sigh. "I didn't realize I hit the dog until I was like _way, way_ down the block. It wasn't my fault, the idiot walked out into the cross walk…"

"The dog was the idiot? Sure blame the inferior animal for not knowing who had the right of way," Chase muttered from the back seat.

"Not the dog-moose, the idiot woman walking her behemoth of a dog," House protested. "I barely skimmed it."

Something dawned on Remy and she slid her eyes at House. "How come I never got any summons?"

House screwed his face up into a myriad of expression ranging from chagrin, to indecision, to _'I'm really want to lie to you but I won't because I know you're really mad'_. He sucked in a breath between his teeth and hedged a bit, "You really don't want to know."

Yeah, that's what she thought.

The light turned green and Remy pulled into traffic again. She didn't know what to think. She was so angry with him right now that she couldn't really see straight.

"You're pissed," he stated obviously from the opposite side of the grand canyon of space she was trying to put between them.

"Ya think?" _God, he got so pissed when she did that, and now he was sitting there playing Captain Obvious?_

"What are you more pissed about, that I took your car or that I hit a dog?"

She glared at him and dragged her eyes back to the road. "I'm pissed that you took my car all this time without telling me. The dog is just the fucking cherry on top!"

He sat there for a long moment and didn't say anything. She glanced at him a few times and began to realize why this bothered her so much. He withheld something from her. Not only had he been driving her car, but he was hiding it from her and did God knows what with the tickets that he got. This was classic House. Nolan would be pissed. "You should have told me. You're supposed to tell…. _people…_ when you take their car, you know."

He turned his head to watch her and frowned understanding her meaning loud and clear. She was going to say 'your girlfriend', but she held back because Chase was in the car and he knew it. They really shouldn't be having this conversation right now but they needed to clear the air. This was kind of a big deal and Chase happened to witness a bunch he shouldn't have already. She slid her eyes to House and she could see the regret in his eyes. She felt bad but damn it, he was wrong.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You're right, I should have told you."

"What?" A grunt of utter incredulity came volleying from the back seat and Remy looked in the rearview mirror to see Chase stare open-mouthed in astonishment. "Did you just apologize?"

House rolled his eyes. "I stole her car for crying out loud."

"Right… in the entire six years I've know you, I have never heard you say 'I'm sorry'… to anyone," he said, his Australian accent becoming distinctly heavier with his bewilderment.

"It's part of my therapy," House added sarcastically. "I've learned to make amends."

"No," Chase leaned forward to rest his arms on the backs of both of their seats. "No… you don't _just apologize_. There's got to be a _huge_ reason…" he paused and then his eyes went massive. "Oh my god!" Chase uttered in quiet shock.

Remy looked in the mirror and saw his blue eyes open wide like a little boy's at just discovering the identity of his favorite superhero. "OH. MY. GOD!" He repeated. Remy was confused.

"You're the Boyfriend!" It was like a sudden revelation.

Both House and Remy froze. A few silent seconds echoed in the interior of the small space. They could practically hear each other's minds reeling. She chanced a look at House who had his eyes closed in frustration. Neither one of them knew what to say. And then suddenly, he leaned over and turned the dial way up on the radio.

"_Rah rah, ah-ah-ah… Ro mah, ro-mah-mah… Gaga, Ooh-la-la,_" came blasting out of the speakers.

_Fucking Lady Gaga? Was he crazy? Yeah, that would distract Chase from figuring out they were lovers._

Annoyed, Remy flashed a look at him. "What are you doing?"

"Getting my inner freak on?" he offered acerbically, giving her a pointed stare. He didn't want to talk about it anymore than she did, but she didn't really see any way around it after his little charade earlier. The horse was out of the barn on that one and it was entirely his fault.

Remy moved her thumb and turned the volume down from her steering wheel control, rolling her eyes thinking he should know that was there, considering he'd been driving her car for the last two freaking months.

"I'm right," Chase said realization dawning on him now. "This whole time. It's been you. The necklace, the roses, the sextting…"

Remy sliced her head to the side. "How do you know about those?"

"I read over your shoulder every once in a while," he said off handedly and then chuckled when they gawked incredulously at him. "What? I'm a lonely guy whose wife left him."

House rolled his eyes and Remy felt herself blush a little. "We are _so_ not dating," she murmured. It sounded like a lie and she knew it.

"No? Then what do you call that little melodrama back there, huh?" Chase questioned in disbelief. "_Oh Baby, Sweetie pie… just write the check_…"

"I told you, it was a ploy to get her out of the tickets," House dismissed in annoyance.

"By pretending to be her husband? You kissed her!" He gaped at him like he was seeing him for the first time. "You apologized!"

"What so because I apologized that means, I'm tapping that?" House shot a look at him over his shoulder.

"Umm yeah," Chase scoffed. "You never apologize. _Ever_. So yeah, that means you're 'tapping that'."

"He's not 'tapping' anything," she huffed in annoyance. "Just leave it alone, Chase."

Remy pulled into the hospital lot and drove around to the doctor's parking. She pulled her car into House's spot. He hadn't driven to work on his own since she'd been sleeping over. He hadn't used his designated parking spot, so she often parked in it. One day, House had tipped the security guy a hundred bucks so she wouldn't get towed.

"I'm not going to tell Foreman," Chase assured them. "If that's what you're worried about?"

"It's none of Foreman's business," Remy said. "It's no one's business. No matter who I'm with."

"Go ahead tell him," House turned around in his seat to question the younger doctor.

"What?" Remy exclaimed, looking at him like he'd really lost his mind.

"Tell him," House continued, challenging the younger blonde man. "But you won't because there's nothing to tell."

"Personally, I don't care what you two do," Chase shrugged. "You could fuck like jack rabbits all over the hospital for all I care."

"Quadruple Check!" House confirmed with an arrogant grin. Everything they had striven to hide in the last few months had just been wide opened in one fell swoop of manly pride.

Remy's mouth dropped open and she shook her head. She'd had enough. "You're fucking unbelievable." Still shaking her head, she got out of the car and slammed the door, stalking around to the trunk to get the samples. She picked up their bags, slung them over her shoulder and stormed past both of them into the hospital.

Now she was really fucking pissed.


	21. Chapter 21

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 21

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone for all of the great things you raved about in the last chapter! Those kinds of chapter are always so much fun to write and I'm so thrilled that it came across exactly as it should have. You guys are awesome! As always my muse Vanamo, you rock! And my ever trusty skimmer, Spot, you are the bestest beta raeder... oops I mean reader. Love you!_

* * *

House knocked on Remy's door with the handle of his cane. He briefly contemplated being annoying and incessantly tapping until she answered but she was already extremely mad at him so he thought otherwise. In doing so, she actually answered the door quicker than he had expected, maybe because she didn't think it was him. Either way he didn't care, he needed to see her and iron this little rough spot out.

She pulled the door open, dressed in a tank top and a pair of jammie pants. Hopefully, she did think it was him, because she had no bra on and he could see straight through the thin baby blue fabric of her shirt. He didn't want her answering the door like that for just anyone.

Her face fell with irritation when she laid eyes on him. _Wow, she was really upset_. He stepped into the hallway and she moved aside silently to let him in. Pausing in front of her, he cupped her cheek in his palm and bent his head to touch his lips to hers. Normally her lips were so pliant and soft, but this evening they were cold and tight with her resentment. She might as well have just punched him in the stomach because that was equivalent to how it felt. Turning from him, she stalked away on her bare feet and he stepped back respectfully to give her the space she was demanding from him with her chilly body language.

Sighing in resignation, he followed her down the long hall into her loft and took his leather jacket off, draping it over the chair.

"What's in the bag?" she inquired coolly, tossing a look over her shoulder as she stepped into the living room.

"Chinese," he said.

"Good, I'm hungry," she said flatly and then moved to the kitchen to get plates and silverware.

House watched her go enjoying the sway of her hips in the soft fabric of her pajama pants. Her back was straight and her shoulders squared telegraphing her definite irritation with him. She hadn't spoken to him since she left him standing on the sidewalk with Chase. That was about five and a half hours ago. He sighed ruefully. This was exactly the kind of thing he didn't miss about being in a relationship. The inevitable pissiness.

He sat down on the sofa and began to take out the cartons arranging them on the coffee table. He got all of her favorites - chicken and broccoli, Kung Pao chicken, veggie lo mein, dim sum and hot and sour soup.

She returned with the plates and two beers. Sensing her presence next to him, he looked up and took the two long necked bottles from between her fingers. She handed him a plate without looking at him and sat on the other end of the sofa - as far away from him as possible.

Resignedly, House hung his head. She was determined to give him the cold shoulder. Fine. He was tougher than that.

They ate in silence for a while. Until House became so bored he put the TV on. He flipped through the channels looking for something interesting. Not much was on, so he stopped on the National Geographic channel figuring something interesting usually could occupy his brain there. A commercial was on, so he tossed the controller to the coffee table and sat back with his beer. In thirty seconds, the irony that made up his life reared its ugly head. _The Dog Whisperer_ bumper brought them out of commercial with a flourish of electronic music. House rolled his eyes and instantly felt her glare on him.

"Oh look, cute little doggies," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe we can find a Nascar race and blend them together and watch the cars run over the stupid animals as they cross the track?"

Leaning forward, he grabbed the controller again and flipped back through the other channels. Yeah, he didn't need or want to give her any more ammunition to fling at him. News, news, talking heads, Telanovellas, Sponge Bob. He paused for a bit to determine the episode. He'd already seen it, a few times. Finally, he stopped on _Friends_… maybe she might laugh the bug out of her ass and they could get on with it.

Phoebe and Rachel were at the coffee place.

"_You mean whenever Monica and Chandler were doing laundry or grocery shopping?"_

"_Uh huh," Rachel murmured._

"_Oh and all that time Monica spent on the phone with sad Linda from camp?" Phoebe said._

_Rachel nodded her head, "Doin it, doin it, phone, doin it."_

"Oh how perfect, it's the One Where Everyone Finds out!" Remy tossed him a pointed glare. Figures, he would land on the one episode where Monica and Chandlers affair was outed and everyone knew except for Ross.

Rolling his eyes, he flipped the controller at her, "Here, why don't you drive?"

"Oh but, babe, you're so good at it," she snarled, tossing it back to him.

House slid his eyes to her. Her jaw was set at a sharp angle and her eyes were a chilly blue. But damn if she didn't look sexy in her fierceness. Sipping his beer, he picked up the controller from the cushion and ignored her barb. Her little tundra act would blow over after a while. He left _Friends_ on. It was funny. So what if it oddly paralleled their life at the moment.

"Where's my fortune cookie?" she demanded after while, holding out her hand like a princess.

House scoffed and leaned forward grabbing the four cookies in their plastic wrapping. He went to hand her one and then snatched it back changing his mind. He gave her a sharp little look from the corner of his eye. "Are you going to stop being a bitch?"

Her mouth dropped open in shock. She started to laugh, despite herself, but then looked at him unsure about whether he meant it or not. "Please," she said adding a spiteful smirk, holding out her hand once more.

He tossed her one, keeping control over the other three, and then opened one himself. He laughed out loud and shook his head. _And the hits keep on coming_…

"What does it say?" Her eyebrows arched curiously.

"You first, what does yours say?"

She looked at him with a stubborn lift to her chin. "_Flattery will go far tonight_…" she smirked and then added the ubiquitous, "… _in bed_." She took a bite and tilted her head. "What did it say?"

"_To love is to forgive_…" he told her and wiggled his eyebrows adding, "… _in bed_."

She snorted inelegantly. "It does not say that."

He laughed. "It does." Leaning over on his elbow, he handed her the little slip of paper across the great divide.

"_Don't expect romantic attachments to be strictly logical or rational!_" she read out loud and then chuckled with a snort, balling up the paper and throwing it at his chest.

"Ain't that the truth," he laughed plucking the paper off his shirt and flicking it to the table.

"What about the other two?" she pouted at him like a petulant child. There was a dawn of a smirk hovering over her lips and a glint in her eye. She couldn't stay mad at him for too long. Her icy demeanor was starting to melt a little.

He tossed her the other one and the opened his last one. "_Common sense is instinct, and enough of it is genius… in bed._" He wiggled his eyebrows at her but she flicked her head further away.

"_A good time to keep your mouth shut is when you're in deep water_." She scoffed in indignation and threw the paper on the table. "Whatever, I'm not eating that one. I think that one belongs to you."

Rising in a huff, she picked up the plates and took them into the kitchen to rinse. He could hear her clinking around as she cleaned the dishes. She was still holding her grudge because she wanted to be mad at him but couldn't and he had seen the little chink in her armor. She couldn't keep this up for too much longer. She smiled, they laughed; it was a forgone conclusion.

Sipping the rest of his beer, he took his bottle into the kitchen and placed it on the counter where she kept her recyclables. She was still at the sink with her back to him. Coming up behind her, he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his chest. She stilled a little, tensing her muscles because he was in her space, but softened a bit when he nudged her cheek with his nose.

"House, " she warned.

He brushed her hair away from her neck with his other hand and pressed his lips to her pulse making her squeeze away as he tickled her. "What's the matter? You so mad at me you can't call me Greg?"

"Maybe," she replied, but he could tell she wasn't really serious. He could feel her lips curve into a little smile against his cheek.

"You can't stay mad," he said kissing her neck again. "You love me too much."

"I do love you," she said. "That's why I'm not going to kill you."

He brought his hands up her side to come around and fondle her breasts through the thin cotton of her shirt. She rocked a little into him and he could see her bite her lip from the corner of his eye to keep herself from responding. She couldn't help it. He knew. As soon as he touched her, she was always like putty in his hands.

She placed her hands over his and pushed them away. "I may not kill you but, I'm still mad."

"No you're not," he said confidently trailing his fingers down to the string tie of her pants. He pulled on the end and slipped his hand inside. Once again she couldn't help herself and pressed her ass against his growing erection with a little moan in the back of her throat.

"I can hold a grudge for a long time," she told him, unconvincingly.

His fingers curled around the smooth curve of her hip to find her triangle of hair. Dipping his finger inside, she arched against him, unconsciously separating her legs a little to allow him access. She was hot and wet for him already and he smiled against her neck pleased with her response. "You are _so_ not mad at me any more. I can feel it."

She purred a little moan from the back of her throat. "What are you gonna do? Fuck me over the kitchen sink until I forgive you?"

Chuckling, he moved his head and traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. "Nope. I like to see your eyes when I make you cum."

She gasped at that bold statement and spun around in the circle of his arms grabbing his head and plunging her tongue into his mouth. They dueled and fought each other until they were clutching at each other's clothes, breathless from their teasing and mounting desire. Pulling back from him, she heaved in her breaths and stared him in the eye. "Let's go."

House shook his head remaining where he was. His cock was straining against the front of his jeans and his leg was twinging from his day. He wasn't about to make any sudden moves. "I'm not limping all the way to your bedroom. Chair, table, wall, you pick."

The excitement escalated in her eyes to a shade of deep blue flint. She looked around with a smirk and then tilted her head at a coy angle. "Table?"

_Mmm, nice_... He should have just said chair, but the table was far better than the wall. He rested his hand on his thigh to quell the beginnings of the inevitable ache that he knew would be coming.

Eyeing her, he watched her step fluidly out of her pants and hop up on the table holding her hands out for him to come to her. He stepped into the circle of her limbs and let her claw at his chest through his shirts as she kissed him again with a fervor that made him not give a shit about how he wasn't going to be able to walk in another ten or twenty minutes after they were done.

His hands caressed her jaw as he kissed her hungrily. Her hands found their way under his shirt to drag her fingernails down his chest, exciting him anew. His fingers then roamed all over her neck and breasts back up to the base of her skull where he grasped fistfuls of her hair, letting the length of it cascade down his forearms as her hands worked feverishly at the fly of his pants. He kicked off his sneakers and let her push the denim down his hips so he could step out of the binding fabric. Once he was pants-free, he pushed her back against the hard surface of the table and grasped her long legs in his hands. Schooching her toward the edge with a tug, she let out a little cry and giggle at his tenacity. He threw one leg over his shoulder and wrapped the other around his waist plunging deep into her opening in one swift stroke. She gasped and then purred like feral cat anchoring her fingernails in his forearms all the while keeping her gaze locked with his.

"If you think just because you fuck me good on this table, I'm going to let you drive my car, you're mistaken," she mentioned with a saucy smile curling her lips.

"I like to drive your car," he told her with a grin. "And yes, I do." He started to move slowly, taking his time to stroke her.

"Ahhh… what do like so much about my car?" she hummed in response to the rhythmic motion of the in and out.

Quickly he picked up speed, banging into her. "It's fast, very fast."

She moaned. "No. You need to drive sloooowww-er."

He smiled at her and lessened his pace, angling his cock up to her g-spot just right.

She took in a swift breath and grabbed onto his hands where he held her. "Mmmm, yeah like that." She grinned up at him, licking her lips in pleasure.

"Slow, like this," he taunted her, easing in and pulling back just slightly before plunging in deep.

"God yes."

"What if I promise to drive like that all the time?" He moved slower, tickling her, teasing her.

"Mm-maybe," her voice was becoming breathless. "Show me again, how you would do it…mmm, I need proof."

He repeated the move over and over again and she arched her back off the table digging her nails into his arms.

"Oh, yeah, that's good," she moaned and lolled her head back side to side. "No more tickets."

"No more tickets," he grunted and then chuckled. God, he was going to lose his mind any minute now.

"And no more animals," she purred.

"Only me," he promised with a growl.

He continued to ease in and out of her, his breathe coming in pants. She was so open, so slick and he was getting so close.

"Do you…ungh, God… promise?"

"I… promise."

He banged into her again, quickening the pace. She lifted her shirt to expose her breasts and to his surprise pinched at her own nipples heightening her own pleasure and that was when he truly lost his mind.

He slammed into her fast and hard making the table legs creak under the force.

"You can… drive my….car…anytime…you want."

"Yeah?"

"Mhhhmmmm, ahhhh."

"You…still…mad?"

"I'm. Not. Mad. Any. More. Oh God. Greg! Yes. Yes! YES!" Her explosive orgasm tugged him into his own mind-blowing release. He slammed into her one last thrust and fell onto his hands flat on the table as he felt the pull in his balls come all the way from the arches of his feet rooted on the kitchen tile. He was sweating and he couldn't breathe because his heart was pounding in his chest like he had run a mile. Fuck. That was good.

She laughed breathlessly as she ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders.

He began to chuckle as soon as his breathing slowed a notch. "You're so easy."

"And you're such an opportunist!" She sat up on the table pulling her shirt back down.

House stood up gingerly and grimaced. Yeah, his leg was frozen in place. But it was oh so goddamn worth it.

She pulled him into a tender kiss and then rested her arms on his shoulders as she nuzzled him with her nose. "I love you."

"I know," he said with a chuckle, running his hands over her back.

She slid off the table along his front and then bent down to pick up his pants along with her own. "Come on, let's get you into a hot bath so you can at least limp around like a turtle tomorrow," she suggested and then smacked his bare ass as she passed him.

House chuckled. Placing his hand over his thigh, he limped, ever so slowly, toward her bathroom where she was already filling the tub with hot water.

He leaned his elbow against the doorjamb and rested his forehead on his arm as he waited. When the tub was full, he pulled his shirts off over his head and limped heavily to the tub. She busied herself with brushing her teeth so he wouldn't feel self-conscious about having to sit on the edge of the tub and lift his leg up with his hands in order to get in. She had always been pretty sensitive about his discomfort with that, despite making fun of him occasionally about his limp. She only really jested, it was never hurtful and besides, he usually deserved it.

Once he was settled in the water, he massaged his thigh and watched her as she removed the scrap of an excuse for a nightshirt and climbed gracefully into the tub with him. He shifted to sit up a bit as she positioned herself in between his legs, tucking herself into his arms and resting her cheek on his chest.

"Please don't hide things from me anymore," she said quietly.

House nodded and kissed her forehead. Settling back against the high edge of the tub, he sighed ruefully. "I had a set back," he told her as a way of apologizing.

She pressed her lips to his chest and sighed. "It was a big one."

"I know," he said. "But come on, the police station was kind of fun…"

She began to laugh and then sat up to look him in the eye. Frowning, she traced a droplet of water that rolled down his chest. A little smile played at her lips as she struggled to pretend she was still miffed. "Maybe," she acquiesced. "Maybe just a little…"

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his and kissed him again, in a devastating, delicious kiss. Her eyes glimmering, she slipped her hand down beneath the surface of the water between their two bodies and cupped him. He grinned at her and then chuckled removing her hand. "Sweetheart, I'm a one trick pony tonight. _I've given her all she's got, Captain_," he professed in his best Scottish accent.

She pouted a little and then took his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly. "It's fine. The table was fantastic enough," she said and then winked at him. "I think I'll live."

Settling her back against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her to him pressing his cheek against her temple. "It's what you get for being with an old fart like me."

"I like that you're an old fart," she giggled. "Except for the, you know, extreme farting part."

House laughed. "That's why you were so pissed. It wasn't that I took your car, it's that I fart in your car."

"Yes! It's like a trigger as soon as you get in," she complained. "It gets stuck in the seats. It's disgusting!"

"Oh please! If it got stuck in the seats, you would have known way before today," he objected with a chuckle.

"I figured they were just so potent, it was a permanent condition," she told him. "I didn't think you were adding to it daily!"

House laughed. "Every other day or so…technically. And when you start farting rose petals and sunshine, then you can complain."

She lifted her chin indignantly. "I do. Rose petals and sunshine come out of my ass like spring breeze. I don't know what you're talking about…"

"So why don't you go fart in the car and deodorize it then, huh?" he said laughing against her neck.

Suddenly, his phone started to vibrate against the floor where she had dropped his pants.

"Want me to get that?" she asked.

"Just leave it," he told her. He had an idea who it was.

"It could be the hospital," she advised. She was right, it could be them too, but he doubted it. His phone had been blowing up all week.

Stretching her arm out she reached for his pants and took the clip off his belt and checked the caller ID. "It's your mom."

House sighed. "Send it to voice mail."

Raising her eyebrows, she did and then put the phone back on the floor. "Why don't you want to talk to your mother? It could be something important."

"It's not," he said. "She's coming to town this weekend."


	22. Chapter 22

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 22

Remy was nervous. To say the least. She had no idea what to expect and he was no help as usual. In fact, he was worse than no help. He was quiet, withdrawn and maybe even a little cranky. She had let him drive because he seemed to need something to do, so she sat quietly in the passenger seat of her car just listening to the music. It didn't really help though as he pulled into the spot by the door of the restaurant. The closer they got to the place, the more her tension mounted.

Turning the car off, he sighed and sat there for a moment, his eyes staring out at nothing in particular. She knew he was lost in thought, but she kind of hoped that maybe he'd give her a commiserating, if not reassuring, glance to let her know it would be ok. Unfortunately, he just opened the car door and got out without a second thought. Rolling her eyes in mild irritation, she reached up to the sun visor and pulled out the handicapped tag to hang from the mirror. _Why was it so fucking hard for him to remember to do that? It wasn't like he could forget about his disability and consequently, her pissiness about the tickets._

Getting out, she smoothed her hair and the wrinkles in her pants, picking at a minute little piece of lint. _Like the woman was going to have x-ray vision… Remy, get a hold of yourself_.

Sighing and following him into the restaurant, she held onto the strap of her purse for dear life. He hadn't made a move to hold her hand so she was kind of adrift without him to anchor her. She couldn't be upset with him though, he didn't want to meet with his mother anymore than she did and frankly she was a little surprised that he had asked her to go at all. She figured he'd just blow it off or meet with his mother alone in an effort to just get it over with. She didn't expect him to invite her. But nevertheless, here they were and Remy hadn't felt this anxious since she had met her prom date's parents when she was seventeen.

The restaurant was nice, a quaint little bistro that had tables small enough for good conversation. There was quiet jazz playing in the background and the strong scent of a wood-burning brick pizza oven. Catching up to him she linked her arm in his left, leaving the cane hand free. He glanced at her for a second and then gave her a thin smile. He was nervous too, as far as she could tell.

"In. Out. Done," he said quietly. "Nothing too personal and don't lie, she can smell it a mile away." He looked at her and then rolled his eyes. "Relax, it's not like going to the gallows."

"I have this feeling she's going to hate me," Remy admitted. It was stupid and childish, but nevertheless it was the truth.

"If anything, she's going to be upset with me," he told her. "I haven't talked to her since before Mayfield."

And with that he left her standing in shock as he approached an older, well-dressed and neatly coiffed woman who was sitting at a table in the center of the dining room.

Remy shook herself and quickly followed him. _He hadn't talked to his own mother since he entered a sanitarium? Why did this surprise her?_

"Gregory, dear," the woman gushed, rising from her seat to embrace her son in a loving hug.

Reluctantly and awkwardly, he put his arm around her and hugged her back. "Hi, Mom."

Remy noticed the immediate change in his voice. He was quiet, soft spoken, the gravely edges of his manly timbre morphed into a boyish lilt. She had to look at him to be sure that he was indeed the one who had greeted the woman. His face softened and his eyes were big and round just a like a little boy's. It was amazing that a man with his arrogant confidence could be turned into an eight-year old child in the presence of his mother. Remy wasn't sure if that made her more on edge or not. It was just so strange.

His mother pulled back from their embrace to appraise him. Touching her hands to his hair, she frowned. "You're hair is so short. And you look so thin…" Her eyes began to glisten as if she were holding back tears.

"Mom," he began, rolling his eyes in embarrassment. "Don't start."

Taking a breath, his mother released him and turned her pleasant, dewy eyes to Remy. "And who is this?"

"Mom, this is Remy," he introduced her, scratching his eyebrow shyly with his thumb. She could swear he actually shifted his feet, like an anxious child.

His mother held out her hand congenially and shook Remy's. She was taken by how warm and soft the woman's hands were as they held hers. Her mother's hands were never soft, or warm when they touched her. Finding her voice, Remy cleared her throat and smiled. "So nice to meet you Mrs. House."

The older woman smiled cordially. "Call me, Blythe," she instructed her and then eyed her son with a knowing smirk. "And I take it from the lack of further explanation and your extremely pretty face that you are romantically involved with my son?"

House groaned and then placed his hand on her lower back in an effort to finally show some solidarity. "Yes, Mom. We're together."

"Well," she said simply with an open-ended air the made Remy uneasy. His mother smiled politely and then gestured to the table. "Shall we?"

They all moved to sit in their chairs. Remy went to grab the wooden back the seat but was immediately waylaid by House's hand as he pulled out her chair for her. She stared at him in open shock and was pegged with a fierce scowl that made her bite her tongue. Playing it off she plastered a smile on her face and sat down, as if it were the most natural occurrence in the world. His eyes dropped to the floor, in shy introspection as he took his own seat, avoiding looking at her and his mother. Remy turned her wavering smile towards his mother across the table from her. There was a small candle and bud vase in the middle of the table. It made it difficult for them to see each other and for a brief second Remy felt grateful that it was there as a barrier. But Blythe soon moved it over to the side, taking away her cover and Remy felt exposed and under a distinct, yet very civil, scrutiny.

"So dear, what is it that you do?" she asked her.

"I'm a doctor," she told her.

"Oh?" she raised her eyebrows at House and then smiled back at her. "What specialty?"

"Internal medicine," Remy's palms were sweating.

"She works for me, Mom," House murmured, spinning his fork absently for a second before looking up and frowning at his mother.

"Well, that's nice that you two have something in common," she replied, seemingly unfazed by the news. Remy wasn't sure if that was a genuine comment or if it was laced with the subtext of disapproval for the distinct age difference or that fact that she was his employee or maybe even both.

House chuckled a little, maybe it was nerves, she wasn't sure, and then changed the subject. "So what brings you up this way?"

Blythe smiled at him. "Your Aunt Sarah is coming down this evening and tomorrow we're going to the Tulip Festival in Cape May."

"Mmm… How exciting," he muttered.

"That sounds nice," Remy said in an effort to be conversational.

Blythe turned toward Remy. "Do you like flowers, dear?"

Taken aback slightly, Remy smiled hesitantly. "Yes. I uh, of course, who doesn't like flowers?" House arched a flirty eyebrow at her and she had to look away or she'd start blushing. _Damn him_. _How could he tease her like that in front of his mother?_ She cleared her throat and rested her chin on her hand before remembering that elbows on the table were rude and quickly pulling her hands to her lap. "I didn't even know they had a festival for tulips."

"Oh yes, they have a lovely show of flowers every year, blooms as big as a teacup," she explained. "They also have artists and music and food. I've asked Gregory to go a few times, but he's usually so busy."

Remy smiled sympathetically at her, knowing full well just how busy he could make himself when he wanted to avoid something.

"Your Aunt would have loved to see you," his mother told him. "It's been so many years."

"I know," he said nodding his head, noncommittally.

"She wants to know how you like the afghan she knitted," she probed.

He grimaced about to complain about it but Remy kicked him under the table. "I love it. We have it on the couch and I use it every night."

His mother raised her eyebrows and then smiled wanly looking between both her son and the woman she'd just met as his girlfriend. Remy took a breath and looked around, hoping there was a hole she could crawl into. She was unholy uncomfortable and she was sweating through her cotton blouse. And every time she opened her mouth she felt like she put her foot in it. This was woefully not going well and they hadn't even looked at the menus yet.

The waitress soon came to take their drink orders, rescuing her for a brief moment. It was lunch on a Saturday, but Remy wanted a wine so badly to calm her nerves she could practically drink a whole bottle, but she didn't want to make a bad impression drinking like a fiend so early in the day, so she settled for a club soda with lemon.

While they browsed the menus, they talked a little about the weather in New Jersey versus Virginia where Blythe still resided after his father passed away. Remy didn't think she'd really be able to eat anything without feeling like she was going to throw up because her stomach was all in knots. She settled on a spinach and feta personal pizza and a salad when the waitress came with their drinks and then took their orders.

"So darling, tell me how have you been?" his mother asked with a worried look in her eyes. "How have you truly been?"

"I'm fine," he told her. "I'm good actually." Remy watched him intently. His eyes were guarded and he was unable to really meet his mother's probing gaze.

The older woman pressed her hands to his and frowned at him. "I'm so glad you're doing well. I wish you would have let me…"

"Mom," he halted her with a warning tone, finally looking into her eyes. "I'm fine."

"But you weren't fine then," she pleaded. "When James called me, I have never heard him so worried." Remy knew she was talking about Mayfield. Her heart went out to the woman. It was hard enough to know he had been there as just his employee back then. It tore at her heart even more so now as she grew to love him. She had no idea how it must have felt for his mother to know that her only son had committed himself and then refused her access to see him while he was there. It must have been heartbreaking especially after losing her husband earlier in the year.

"Things are good now, I'm off Vicodin, I'm working again," he told her and then slid his eyes to Remy. He gave her a little smile. "I'm in a relationship again. Things are great. Seriously, Mom, I'm ok." His mother smiled warmly and patted his hands with hers. She just looked at him for a long moment, taking in everything he said, and didn't say. It was clear she was no stranger to his avoidance and no doubt had honed the skills to read him much better than anyone.

Smiling warmly, his mother sat back and looked at Remy. "So how long have you been a couple?"

"Since Christmas," Remy answered her and then sipped her drink.

His mother looked at him oddly and then forced a smile on her face. Yet another thing he had kept from her. It must be so frustrating for her. "How nice. Are you two living together?" Blythe asked curiously.

Remy's eyes got big with uncertainty and she kept her mouth shut allowing him to field that.

"No, Mom," he said. "I'm still at Wilson's."

"Oh." Blythe looked surprised at that, but Remy supposed it was because he and Stacey had moved in so quickly. He had told her all about his relationship with his former lover one night after Remy had found a picture of her in his desk drawer at work. He threw it out after telling her the story, but it was disconcerting nonetheless, to know just how much he had cared for her and the history behind everything that made him the man she knew today.

Their food came and they ate a little while talking about what each had ordered. It was typical banal lunch conversation and Remy began to relax a little.

"Remy dear, tell me a little about yourself," Blythe prompted. "Where is your family from?"

"Connecticut, I grew up around New Haven," she supplied amiably.

"And your parents, what do they do?"

Remy grimaced inwardly. She wasn't a fan of telling details of her personal life. He had warned her not to get too personal which was fine with her. Vague answers would do. "My dad was in publishing. He edited medical texts."

"Really?" House looked at her. He seemed surprised and she realized she had never told him about that, but then again he never asked.

"And your mother?"

"She's dead," Remy said simply. She slid her eyes to House and prayed that he wouldn't say anything about her condition. She didn't think she was making a very good impression and for his mother to discover that she was a time bomb waiting to die probably wouldn't go over well.

"I'm sorry to hear that, dear," Blythe said compassionately. "Recently?"

Remy sighed. "No. I was fifteen when it finally happened."

"It was a long illness," House said, adding a finality to the line of questioning. His mother looked between the two of them and Remy recalled him telling her that he could never lie to his mother because she was the human lie detector. The woman must be picking something up on her radar because her eyes had a strong but well-veiled curiosity to them. She suspected something was being withheld, but didn't press any further.

Needing a breather, Remy placed her napkin on the table and excused herself to go to the restroom. _This was a lot harder than she had expected._

* * *

House watched Remy walk away with a tautness in her shoulders. She was having difficulty with this. He knew she was nervous, but he didn't really know how to help her relax. His mother wasn't critical, she hardly ever was with anyone. She was just curious and reserved. This was the first time she was hearing about any part of his life since he entered Mayfield. He knew how much that had hurt her, but he didn't need her to be a part of it. They were his problems, his mistakes. He hadn't told her when he was shot, he hadn't told her when he almost went to jail and lost his license. He certainly wasn't going to tell her about losing his mind. He didn't want to worry her and he didn't need her pity, or rather her empathy and misplaced guilt. He had dealt with enough of that already.

"She is very beautiful," his mother said as she watched her walk away.

House nodded. "She's more than just a pretty face."

"I should hope so," she told him and then arched a questioning look at him. "You don't bring women to meet me."

House found himself smiling at that. "No, I don't."

"She's lovely," she said. But she had that look in her eye.

"But?"

"But, she's very young, a lot younger than you," she pointed out.

"Yes, I know."

"At least twenty years," she surmised. House shrugged, with a sheepish nod. Her perceptive skills were never one to be over looked. "Young women want marriage and children, even the ones who have promising careers," she told him.

"Yeah, and?"

"Stacey was your age, you were both in the same place in your careers," she said. "It was different with her, then. You are older now. Different now."

House narrowed his eyebrows into a scowl. "So what are you saying?"

"Can you make that girl happy? Do you want the same things that she wants?"

"She wants her career," he said. "She just wants to be." He recalled the conversation about her wanting children the night that baby died. She said she had wanted kids and he had told her it was out of the question for him. She had agreed that it was out of the question for her too but he knew it was because she was afraid of passing on her illness like her mother did. If she weren't sick, then she would want babies. The fact that she could still do it, with a genetic test, left the possibility open and he wondered if she had really thought about that. Would she leave him, if that became an issue?

"What did her mother die of?" his mother asked him quietly. He looked away, not wanting to tell her because he knew how'd she react. But, she pressed on, "Gregory?"

"Huntington's Chorea," he said and then went on knowing he had to explain, "it's a genetic disease that ends in a very debilitating death."

He watched his mother blanche and take a deep breath. "Does she have it too?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Greg."

"Mom…"

"Sweetheart," she clasped his hand in her warm one squeezing his fingers tightly.

"I know what the end game is," he said shaking his head. "And it doesn't matter to me."

"I just want you to be happy. I don't want to see you go through any more pain. You've been through enough."

He frowned and looked at her hand on his. She still wore her wedding ring as a token to all the years she had spent with his father. And she still held the secret of his true father's identity. Even after whatever had transpired, she remained with his dad for fifty years. There was something to be said about her endurance and maybe he was hoping that some of it was in his make up too.

Remy returned to the table, her eyes bright and her smile refreshed. She had made some kind of decision while she was in the bathroom. She was calmer, confident, more like the woman he knew and loved. He touched his hand to her shoulder and leaned over to press a chaste kiss to her temple. She smiled at him, taken aback by his display of affection, but nonetheless, more secure about everything as she laced her fingers with his. His mother smiled lovingly at him and gave him her nod of approval. Normally, she thought everything he did was wonderful, and turned a blind eye to it even when it wasn't, but her endorsement of his relationship with Remy meant more to him than the rest. It was her pure acceptance without the influence or input of his father and for the first time he felt really good about sharing a part of his life with her.

* * *

_A/N: Not as overly dramatic or humorous as you've come to expect in the recent chapters but it starts to open up an interesting arc for both of them in the coming chapters. How will Blythe's words sit with House? And is she correct in her assumptions? And what does that all mean?_


	23. Chapter 23

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 23

_A/N: Ok, wow, it's been a little bit since I've updated. Not usual for me, and I do apologize. Last week was a crazy week at work and Real Life sort of reared its hideous little Medusa head. Damn bitch! But great news, I am on Spring break and have pounded out a phenomenal 18,000 words in the last three day. You guys will DIE! When you see what's coming! I can't even tell you how excited I am. _

_Oh! And the fabulous writers and I must be sharing an open ESP channel because hello, couples yoga and sexting? Guys if you're listening: House and Thirteen were supposed to be doing that stuff! But keep up the good work, nevertheless... (disclaimer you own the fabulous character that i use like paper dolls, i only wish i could have your job!) That said... Enjoy!_

* * *

"A Ubiquitin drug discovery and diagnostics conference in Boston?" Nolan's face made that thinking frown to hide his surprise. House fidgeted under his scrutiny because the doctor looked concerned. "This is sudden."

"I just discovered it last week,"

"The convention is in two days."

"They had a last minute cancelation."

"Is Remy going?"

"No," House said.

"Is Wilson going?"

"No. It's not a cancer conference. It's in diagnostics, which is my field, not his."

"Cuddy?"

House sighed irritatedly. "What? Do I need a baby sitter? I thought we were past that?"

Nolan frowned. "Greg. This will be the first time you will truly be alone, left to your own devices, in an entire in a year. This is a big deal"

House drew his eyebrows together in s scowl. "And?"

"And we need to talk about it," he stated the obvious.

House sighed again.

Nolan leveled a pointed look at him. "We're coming up on the year anniversary of you being institutionalized."

House looked at his hands on his cane positioned in between his legs deliberately avoiding the probing stare. "I know. I was there, remember?"

"How are you feeling about that?" His voice lost the edge and became more compassionate.

But House didn't want his pity. "I don't know. How am I supposed to feel about that?"

"You tell me."

"I feel nothing about it," he declared.

"Nothing at all?"

"Nope."

"The date on the calendar is two days away, and you're telling me that you feel nothing about being clean and sober and rational for the last 365 days?" Nolan waved his hand in the air and stared at him with large eyes. He was challenging him. House knew it. They were playing their lion and gazelle game again. Except the lion had just caught him.

House sighed. "I know it's coming. I'm not an idiot. I just don't… _dwell_ on it."

"You avoid it."

House shrugged. _Yeah, he avoided it_. There was always the memory of what had transpired, and the flashes of what he thought had transpired. He remembered them like they were just yesterday. Their intensity had dulled but he couldn't ever forget. He wasn't sure he wanted to, because he needed to never be back in that place again. He could never go back to the darkness again.

"You only avoid things when they have significance to you," Nolan addressed him with assuredness. House had to admit that the psychiatrist had begun to know him very well over this past year. It was strange yet oddly reassuring.

"No, I avoid things when they don't have significance to me, too," he replied flippantly, because the little devil inside him couldn't help himself. It was true; he wasn't lying. Avoidance was a tactic he'd become quite acquainted with over the many years of his life.

"Are you going to this conference to avoid it?" Nolan pressed. "It is conveniently over the the year mark."

"It's a coincidence," House tried lamely.

Unabashedly, Nolan laughed out loud at that one. "Ha! You don't believe in coincidences. You don't believe in Fate, or chance or even flukes. You believe in calculated planning, lying and deceit. How can you even say that with a straight face?"

"Fine," House relented. "It's not a coincidence that I'm going. You happy now? The flyer came across my desk, Remy opened it and suggested that I go. She figured that it would keep my mind off of it instead of being around the hospital thinking about, you know… what happened."

"And you agreed?" Nolan asked skeptically.

"Yeah, I mean I'd rather be going to Vegas and boozing it up at the blackjack table, $10,000 up from where I started but… hey, beggars can't be choosers, right?"

"Somehow I'm not sure that you'd be all that interested in sitting through lectures at a conference," the psychiatrist surmised, correctly.

"Believe me, I'm not," House sighed. "Cuddy makes us go as part of our professional obligations to the hospital. Clinic duty and at least one conference a year, paid for on the tab of PPTH. I go because the dominatrix makes me, not because I want to. They had one in Dubai this year, but the Sheik cancelled it for some reason. Now, that would have been sweet."

Nolan considered him for a moment and then asked, "So how do you feel about being on your own for three days?"

"Fine," House shrugged indifferently.

"No reservations? No concerns?" Nolan asked. "You will be at a place where alcohol is a social tool with many colleagues you most likely do not respect or will generally think are idiots."

"Yes, that's usually what happens when you bring a lot of pompous doctors together to listen to other pompous doctors."

"It would drive many non-alcoholics to drink." Nolan raised his eyebrows, making his point.

"I'm not going to drink," House laughed. "I've been able to have a glass of wine occasionally with dinner and no more than that. I will be alone, yes for the majority of the time but that's what they have cell phones for and in-room porn. I'll be a kid in a candy shop."

The psychiatrist chuckled at that and didn't even bother to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. "How does Remy feel about you going away?"

"She's the one who suggested that I go," House said, a tad confused.

"Well, this will be the first time you will also be separated from her for more than twelve hours."

House rolled his eyes. "I'll leave her with a litter box, a big bowl of food and water. I'm sure she'll be fine."

Nolan frowned a smirk at him for his deflection but carried on, "How will _you_ feel being separated from her for seventy two hours?"

"I lived alone for ten years, I'm a big boy."

"As long as you have a cell phone and porn you're fine without seeing her for a few days?"

"Yeah, I can call her when I want and think about her the other times," House shrugged looking away. It wasn't really how he'd like to be spending his time. It would be lonely compared to what his life had been like since he'd started seeing her but he had spent a lot of his life alone; he was used to it.

"You'll call her when you miss her?"

"Yes."

"You don't anticipate feeling lost, maybe alone?"

"Maybe," House frowned. "I don't know."

"Being alone for this long will be a big step for you," Nolan stated. "Being alone in a room for large periods of time is a bad thing for you."

"I'm going to have to do it some time," House shrugged.

"Yes," Nolan agreed. "I'm just not sure a medical convention was the best way to go about it."

"Look, they're going to be talking about drug discovery advances and opportunities in oncology, infectious disease, neurodegeneration, inflammation, diabetes, and muscle wasting away. All of the things I deal with on any given day. At least it's interesting to me. So I have a fifty-fifty shot of being somewhat entertained while I'm there. Can we look at this as a positive thing for like two seconds?"

"Ok, you're right," Nolan agreed, nodding his head. "Maybe this could be good for you. Ease you into being alone, without someone to supervise you. Remy's just a phone call away. So is Wilson, so am I for that matter. It could be good…"

* * *

_House stared into the fireplace. The familiar darkness surrounded him, he felt relief, comfort, a sense of normalcy. The air, the smells, the colors were as they had always been. The feel of leather underneath his pant legs, the depression his butt had made years ago. All of it felt like home._

_But nothing felt more like home than the warmth that coursed through his veins. The haze, the tranquility and the peace that invaded his brain as the hydrocodone took its root in his opioid receptors. That eventual sense of being padded and comforted from the world. And then there was the alcohol that sat on his tongue and the tingling numbness in his extremities. The taste of the bourbon, bitter and sharp as it worked its way down his esophagus to the pit of his stomach. He missed it all, the feelings, the sensations, the acrimony and the lack of feeling. They were old friends, companions in his self-destruction. They were his saviors. _

_In his dreams, he could taste the alcohol as if he had swallowed it and the bitterness of the pills as if he had crunched them in his teeth. He could remember all of the sensations as if he were actually under the influence again. In his dreams he could walk, free and unencumbered. He felt no pain. Every step, every movement felt like he had never been the broken man that he knew he had become. _

_Sometimes he would give anything to be back here, to feel this emptiness again, the inevitable lightening of his soul, the removal of the ache. Sometimes he wished that he had never left, that his solitude had never been ripped from him like a security blanket from a crying child. _

_But he knew that the obsession, the constant pull toward the darkness brought him only misery. He knew that the escape was only fleeting and that the pain always returned. There was no true solace. There was no real breaking free. Only false illusions of being capable to handle what the world has taken from him._

_He wasn't in that place anymore, he was now on the sofa. The one that faced the loft's fireplace. There was wine in the cabinet. There was ibuprofen in the medicine chest. And there was pain in his leg. It was dull, constant, nagging. It never went away and it would flare up without notice. Sometimes if felt like nails were being driven into his thigh and sometimes it was an oppressive weight bearing down on him, crushing him from the inside out. He'd rub it, massage it, walk it off in an effort to dull it. Sometimes it would go away but others it would wake him in a cold sweat. But always, he would bare it, like a tenet. It was a reminder, a memento of sorts, of the dark place he had been, the place he could never go back to. The pain that drove him to destruction was what kept him from going back there, from falling prey to it again and again. The crush of the pain was what helped him to remember he was alive. And for now that was ok._

* * *

Searing, throbbing pain raged in House's leg and harshly pulled him out of a deep sleep. He hadn't had severe pain like this in a long time. Not since he came out of Mayfield and attempted to give up medicine in favor of his mind. His thigh burned with a pressure and a heavy weight. It was crushing him and he couldn't breath. When he opened his eyes and woke fully, he realized that Remy was lying on top of him. Her legs were straddling his thigh and the thin, yet consistent weight of her body was resting completely on his damaged leg. How they had become entangled like they were was beyond him. When they slept, they usually didn't move much once they settled into a comfortable position. But, she'd been sleeping fitfully lately. She was stressed because he was going away for a few days and when she was exhausted, her sleep cycles were out of whack. It was like a vicious succession.

Sighing heavily, he slowly rolled her off of him to what was usually his side of the bed. The movement made her stir when she turned onto her other side, mumbling something unintelligible as she snuggled into the pillow. Slowly, after he extricated himself from her, he pulled himself into sitting and massaged the ache in his leg. He couldn't be upset with her, it wasn't her fault.

Recalling the vivid images of his recurring dream, he sighed heavily and ran his hand over his face and head to massage the tension away in the back of his neck. This would be the time of night when he'd take two, maybe three, Vicodin and wash it down with a full glass of bourbon. He briefly noted the time and shook his head recalling how he didn't care then about how dangerous that combination of substances was. All he needed to know then was that he'd have another four to six hours of uninterrupted, painless sleep before his misery would begin again.

Now it was different. Now he just needed to breathe for a moment.

He could work through this. He could handle the pain.

The sheets shifted behind him and she rolled back toward him. Her hand touched his back and she knelt up, running her hands along his spine to drape her arms around his neck. She placed a gentle kiss at his ear.

"What's wrong?" she murmured sleepily.

He turned to her and ran his hand lovingly over her face. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

Rising, without a word he hobbled out of the room leaving her alone to hopefully do as he had suggested. She needed the sleep more than he did; he had been functioning for years on way less than he ever got now.

Going into the kitchen, he passed by the cabinet with the wine. He touched his palm to the door and paused. Taking a breath, he stepped backward and continued on to the refrigerator where he took out the orange juice. He grabbed the bottle of Motrin out of his pajama pants pocket he had gotten in the bathroom and palmed four of them, swallowing them down with the juice straight from the container. He chuckled a moment. _What Wilson didn't know, wouldn't hurt him_… He rested his hands on the counter and looked at the ceiling for a moment, stabilizing himself and letting the pills and orange juice do their job. Exhaling out a breath, he cursed and then limped over to the desk where his laptop was. He picked up the computer and then made his way over to the couch sitting down heavily and turned it on. He figured he had about a half an hour before the silly little tablets took affect so he might as well occupy himself with some tits and ass and a check to confirm his flight to Boston for tomorrow morning.

It wasn't like he didn't have his own perfect boobs and tight ass in the next room. He just didn't want to bother her this late at night. A blowjob would definitely take his mind off of his pain and the fact that he wanted to eat an entire bottle of Vicodin, but he didn't think she'd be too receptive to servicing him at three o'clock in the morning. Besides, they had their goodbye sex earlier in the evening. He was pushing it, even thinking about having another erection at this time of night. Two was about all he could swing lately, and it was every other day at that. Damn SSRI's and the decrepit aging process… getting old sucked.

He checked his flight. Flight number CO1172, departing Newark at 10:55 AM arriving in Boston at 12:01pm, duration 1 hour and 12 minutes. He'd be there in slightly over an hour, be at the hotel by 3:30, in his room by 4:00 and maybe at the spa hot tub by 4:15. Dinner, the introductory sign-in bullshit and he'd be on the phone and in his king sized, duvet-covered poufy bed by 8:00. He could solve whatever case they had from Boston, while she explained her day. They could do a little phone sex, and then watch an episode of _Family Guy_ together on TBS and he could be asleep by 10:00. All in all, pretty painless.

Logging out of the airline site, he then checked his email and found that the newest issue of JAMA had arrived. He found an article about infantile Krabbe disease that he read which lead to another article about neurodegenerative disease and then to another article. What he found was quite intriguing, however it was giving him a headache. _Way too much to think about… right now._

"What are you doing?"

"Oh shit!" House jumped at the sound of her voice and he let out a little growl in frustration at being startled. He hadn't heard her come out of the bedroom. She was silent when she moved, especially when she was barefoot and she could sneak up on him like a ninja. "You scared the shit out of me."

She came up behind him over the back of the sofa and linked her arms around his neck. Quickly, he closed the lid of his laptop and shook his head. "What were you looking at?"

"Nothing. It was just an article," he said and ran his hands over her arms. "What are you doing up?"

"I can't sleep without you there," she pouted into his ear.

He scoffed a laugh. "Well you're gonna have to because you sent me away on this trip for the next three days."

She nuzzled her nose into his neck and sighed. "Two whole nights without you. Three blessed days without you at work, but two miserable nights alone without you. That's going to suck."

"Yes, but its good remember," he chuckled. "I'm supposed to be out there alone practicing to be a big boy again."

She pressed her lips against his pulse and giggled mischievously "You are a big boy, a mighty big boy…"

"_That's what she said_…" he chuckled.

"I know, _that's what I said_…" she laughed. "Come on, come back to bed."

House placed his laptop in its bag in preparation for tomorrow's trip and took her hand following her back to bed. "Can you at least try not to steam roll me, it's not good for the gimpy leg."

Her eyes got wide and she pulled on his hand. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't even know."

He chuckled and got under the covers tucking her down next to him on his left side. "As long as you straddle me on this side we're good to go."

She snuggled down into the comfort of his own duvet cover and familiar sheets, purring softly as she ran her toes along his shin. "Babe, I love you."

"_Ditto_…"

She breathed a little laugh against his t-shirt. "Mhmm… _You had me at hello_."

"_You make me want to be a better man_… Wait, " House chuckled. "That actually makes sense."

Remy giggled into his chest. "_Me and Jenny… we go together like peas and carrots_."

House laughed out loud because she actually sounded like Forrest Gump. Giggling wildly, she stifled her laugh and shushed him with a finger to his lips. "Hush, we're gonna wake Wilson."

"Whatever, he'll think we're fucking again and then I'll just look like super stud."

"_Goose, you big stuuudddd, take me to bed or lose me forever_…" she recited with another giggle and a squeeze.

"Go to sleep," he kissed her brow and closed his eyes. He started to chuckle as the next retort came fluttering into his mind… "_Nobody puts Baby in the corner_."

She laughed. "You're so gay."

"I know. You love it."

"I do, I do."


	24. Chapter 24

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 24

Remy turned off her car and gathered her messenger bag from the passenger seat. She placed the arm of her sunglasses into the visor for later and hung the handicapped parking decal from the rearview mirror. It was cheating, just a tad, because he wasn't actually in her car to warrant her parking in his spot. But what the hey, it was one of the little perks of being the boss's girlfriend. Though, the police wouldn't really see it that way, but whatever…

The air was warm and the sun was bright as she stepped out on the sidewalk. She inhaled the fresh May breeze and smiled, mentally running down the things they needed to do for their patient today as she headed toward the building. _Treadmill stress test and cardiac enzyme output… maybe a trans-esophageal echo… _

"Dr. Hadley…" someone called, breaking her mental checklist and grabbing her attention.

Remy turned around to see Cuddy approaching her, walking briskly in her trademark stiletto heels and just a bit too tight pencil skirt and matching blazer. Sure as the day was bright, the cleavage was amply showcased. Too bad he wasn't here to see it; it would have gotten his day off to a roaring start. Sighing, Remy plastered a polite smile on her face and prepared herself for the inquisition. It was no secret that Cuddy held no love for her. And the feeling was mutual as far as Remy was concerned.

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy," Remy tried to set the tone as cordial.

"Dr. Hadley," the administrator repeated, this time in an official tone. "Can you explain to me why exactly you are parking in Dr. House's personal spot?"

Remy held back the impertinent roll of her eyes that threatened to get her in deeper hot water and instead, rested her hands on the strap of her bag. _Finally, it only took the woman three months to realize…_ Remy didn't want either one of them to come under fire for having a relationship. Most likely House would bare the brunt of it for sleeping with his employee since he was the one in charge of the team. He had enough crap to deal with. _Lying was her best option._ "Um… I… lost a bet."

Cuddy's face immediately contorted into a mask of perplexed intrigue. "You lost a bet?"

"Yes," Remy replied simply.

Cuddy stared at her for a moment and then raised her eyebrows prompting her to expand on her story.

"I'm not sure you really want …"

"Dr. Hadley," Cuddy cut her off impatiently. "What was the bet?"

"House said he could build a scale model of your ass with tongue depressors."

Cuddy's mouth dropped open, horrified. Remy had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. He had actually said that one night when they were up late in the pathology lab waiting for test results. He was bored and playing with a box of tongue depressors claiming he could make such a model but he need somewhere in the neighborhood of eight, 500 count boxes to do it justice. It was mildly humorous then, but now, seeing the look on her face, it was just hysterical.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at her and then huffed a bit. The irony was that it was totally plausible, and the poor woman couldn't deny that.

"I told him there was no way, but obviously…." Remy gestured over her shoulder toward his spot and shrugged.

The normally cool woman blubbered like a fish gasping for air. She had to pinch the bridge of her nose with her fingers and take a breath to calm herself. Remy could practically see the images of panic running through the woman's head. "Where is this sculpture?"

Remy turned her face to look into the parking lot hiding a smirk. She had to let the woman off the hook. It was just too cruel. "He burned it in effigy when you forced him to do the colonoscopy on the IBS patient for skipping his week's clinic hours." _God, she'd been around House for way too long. The lies were coming off her tongue like they were the actual truth._

"I see," Cuddy said tightly and flicked her bangs out of her eye. "And now you have to drive him to work everyday."

"Yeah, that's about it," Remy replied.

"Well, the bet is over," she ordered. "He can drive his own ass to work when he gets back from this conference."

Remy nodded and then looked at her boss questioningly. "Do you want me to move my car now?"

"No, you've been parking there for a while I assume. Another day won't kill anyone." Cuddy scoffed and then started toward the door, Remy leisurely following her. The click of her heels resounded against the cement of the sidewalk echoing her irritation. Suddenly, she paused and then turned to look at Remy walking back the ten yards she had covered in her haste. "Are there pictures?"

Remy began to laugh and then snapped her mouth shut shaking her head. "No."

Cuddy stared harder, as if she were probing her for the truth. Remy held her hands up in defense. "I swear. No pictures. He never took any."

That seemed to satisfy her because she teetered on through the door. Remy shook her head and entered the hospital. Heading for the elevator, but then changed her mind. She took her phone out and headed for the stairs as she pushed the speed dial.

The phone rang a bit and then a sleepy, groggy voice barked into the phone. "Somebody better be dying."

"Wakey, wakey, sweetheart. I have a funny little tidbit for you…"

* * *

Later that afternoon, Remy leaned against the nurse's station in the clinic as she jotted down notes in the patient file. House had texted her for an hour straight during one of his less interesting seminars on muscle degeneration. He was bored and of course she and the other ducklings were in the middle of a differential. So as not to arouse suspicion, she had to play it off that it was one of her friend's in the middle of a boyfriend crisis. When the texts started to get a little kinky, she had to actually turn her phone off because she was getting so worked up she thought she might actually slap her hands down on the table and pull a Meg Ryan in the middle of the DDX room. That was when he actually called and stupid Chase put him on speakerphone. Of course the genius bastard that he was, House had solved their case without even being in the same state as they were and via text… in between sexting, at that. Just the sound of his voice through the little speaker on the glass table brought vivid clarity to the words he had typed. She had escalated well past aroused to all hot and bothered and once they finally had a course of action, Remy had to take a couple of laps around the hall to calm herself down. She had stopped twice in front of the ladies' room door and contemplated going in to take care of business, but she'd thought better of it. She could wait to speak to him later that night in the privacy of her own bed for that kind of indulgence.

The clinic door swung open and Remy saw Foreman approach her from the corner of her eye. He held the blue folder for their patient in his hand and held it out to her as he stopped by her elbow.

"The treatment is working," he informed her.

Remy opened the file and perused the notes. Nodding, she went to hand it back to him, "Looks good to me."

He pushed the file back at her. "I'm out. You're going to need to stay to monitor the progress."

"Why me?" Remy objected. "I stayed last night. It's your turn, if I remember correctly."

"Can't," he said and then gave her a confident smirk. "I have a date."

Remy stared at him for a moment. She really didn't know what to say. One, he had a date. Two, he was reneging on his responsibilities that he so righteously upheld. And three, he was pushing them off onto her. _What the hell?_ Frankly, she was confused and a little miffed. Her sarcasm reared its ugly head and she arched an eyebrow at him. "You have a date? With an actual woman?"

Foreman huffed a chuckle at her jibe and then nodded his head. "Yes, a hot sexy woman as a matter of fact."

"Really," she drew out slowly. "Well… good for you, I suppose."

Foreman rocked back and forth on his heels and puffed out his chest. "Very good for me, if you know what I mean." _Did he actually just wink at her?_

Remy didn't know what to make in this haughty show of machismo. For months, he pursued her and now all of a sudden he was sharing secrets with her like she was his buddy. This was definitely different. Snorting a laugh through her nose, she tucked the file under her arm and regarded him warily. "Where did you meet this hot, gorgeous babe?"

"Why? You jealous?"

"No," she said. "Just curious."

"We met at Shannahan's," he told her.

"You met her at a bar?" Remy asked incredulously. "You don't talk to people at a bar. As a matter of fact, you don't talk to people ever."

Foreman shrugged and then chuckled almost triumphantly. "I guess people change."

Remy laughed in disbelief. "I guess so." She started to walk out of the clinic to the lobby and he followed on her tail. Pausing, she turned to him and smiled genuinely. "Eric, I'm glad to hear that you're getting out there. I'm happy for you."

He stared at her for a minute and then his face went serious. "It doesn't bother you at all that I'm seeing someone?"

Remy looked at him, confused. "No. Why would it bother me?"

He shrugged a little and held his hands out. "I don't know. It still bothers me that you've moved on."

"Eric," she said warmly but moving back to keep some distance between them. "I'm happy now with where I am in my life. You and I can work together without fighting anymore, things are finally getting back to normal where we can be just colleagues. I want you to be happy too."

Foreman breathed in tightly through his nose and then set his jaw firmly. "Did you ever feel anything for me?"

"I'm not answering that because you know the truth," she said. "But I've moved on. You need to move on too." With that, Remy turned on her heel and went to head for the elevators but took two steps and almost ran smack into Blythe House. She appeared to have come from the direction of the elevators as if she had already been upstairs.

"Remy," the older woman addressed her.

"Mrs. House," Remy said in surprise. She looked back over her shoulder to Foreman who watched the two women intently. "What are you doing here?"

Remy doubled back to look at Foreman again and saw his eyes narrow in curiosity. The same look was reflected in House's mother's eyes, but for a very different reason.

"You know House's mother?" he asked.

Remy swallowed hard and flicked her eyes back and forth between the two questioning faces. _Don't lie, she can smell it a mile away_… What the hell was she going to do? She couldn't very well let him know how she knew the woman. And she couldn't fib and make herself look like a liar in front of his mother. _Shit_…

"You must be Dr. Foreman," Blythe stepped forward and offered her hand in greeting.

The neurologist seemed to be derailed at the fact that his notoriously secretive and evasive boss would have even spoken about him to his mother enough that she'd be able to recognize him without having met him at all. He collected himself and held his hand out to her. "Yes, I am."

"So nice to meet you," she said warmly. "In all the time that my son has worked at this hospital, I've only met but a few of his colleagues. It's good to meet you."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, as well," Foreman said politely. "And you've meet Dr. Hadley before?"

Smiling, Blythe turned and gave Remy a reassuring nod prior to regarding him again. "We met once before," was all she said. Remy prayed that she wouldn't elaborate but suspected that the woman had a clear understanding of the situation if she had overheard any of their previous conversation.

"House isn't here. He's at a medical conference in Boston," Foreman relayed for her.

"I know, dear," she said and then looked at Remy. "I was actually here to see James."

Remy grew concerned. It was then that she realized his mother was holding a file against her chest. "You were here to see Dr. Wilson?" That was odd. She was visiting when she knew House wouldn't be here, with a file, and to see Wilson? Remy didn't want to jump to conclusions but, two plus two could mean cancer.

"Well, you were obviously on your way out," Foreman said, clearly not giving a crap about the news she had just told them. "Don't let us keep you."

Blythe looked beseechingly at Remy noticeably wanting to talk to her. "Could you do me a favor, dear?"

"Sure," Remy replied.

"I'd like to leave my son a message," she said. It was a simple and likely request, but Remy read the subtext. The woman wanted to speak with her privately. And for that matter Remy reciprocated the feeling.

"Foreman I'll take care of this," she said and then waved their patient's file. "I've got watch tonight. You go and enjoy your _very special_ evening."

"Oh, by all means dear, " Blythe chimed in. "Go and enjoy your plans. I'm sure that I am in perfectly capable hands with Dr. Hadley."

Foreman jingled his keys in his trouser pocket and looked at the two women curiously before deciding to leave.

Remy breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at her watch, Remy held her hand out and gestured toward the cafeteria. "It's almost dinner time. It's not the best food on the planet, but I'm hungry and I think we need to talk."

"Exactly," Blythe concurred and the two women walked into the short line at the mouth of the cafeteria. They chose their meals and found a seat near the back so they could have a conversation away from any prying gossips. Though no one knew who Blythe was, it was still best to keep a low profile. Remy's presence in general sparked interest merely because she was a member of House's team. Never mind that she had had an open relationship with Foreman. Inquiring minds seemed to follow her no matter what she did.

Remy was about to speak when Blythe opened her mouth first. "I'm so sorry to catch you in the middle of a conversation with Dr. Foreman."

Remy waved a hand dismissing the idea that her dialogue with him was anything important. "The conversation was over. You didn't interrupt anything."

Blythe dunked her tea bag and regarded her with a motherly perception. "You two used to be involved personally." It was an affirmation, not a question.

Remy took in a breath and then frowned. "Yes, for almost a year."

"I take it the split was not amicable," she observed.

"You could say that," Remy laughed and then sighed, knowing she had to explain. "When Greg was… out… Eric was in charge of the department and he fired me because I was too close to him."

"It's not easy being involved with someone you work closely with," Blythe said.

Remy smiled at her, knowing where the woman was going with this. "No it's not."

"No one knows about you and Greg?"

"No, it's best if no one knows," Remy responded. "Especially Eric."

"Workplaces are like fish bowls, you are on display every move that you make. And some fish draw more attention than others."

"Yes, because some fish make choices that whole world seems to be interested in, even when they try to blend into the background."

Blythe smiled as she took a bit of her salad. "Aren't you afraid that Greg might do the same thing? That your job differences might create a wedge between you personally?"

Remy thought about that for a moment. "Greg would fire me because the medicine wasn't right, because I had made a stupid, careless mistake, not because of his own insecurity. And believe me he has plenty."

"Yes, I am well aware," Blythe said ruefully.

"I suppose that if we continue, one day it will come out and everyone will know," Remy said. "But it will only come out when he's ready. No sooner."

"My son has a very strong personality. He does things in his own way and his own time."

Remy smiled. "Yes. It's one of the many things I love about him."

Blythe sighed. "It's obvious that you care very deeply for him and understand him. He needs someone like you. Someone who accepts him for who and what he is and doesn't expect him to change. You seem to be that person and for that, I am completely grateful."

"Blythe, why were you here to see Wilson?" Remy asked boldly.

The woman paused for a moment and shook her head. When she looked at Remy, there was a heaviness to her eyes that gave Remy pause. "I needed a consult from him."

"Are you ill?"

"No, dear. I am not," she assured her. "My sister Sarah is."

Remy breathed a sigh of relief, carefully masking it to show sympathy for her sibling. " What does she have?"

"Ovarian Cancer," she answered and then handed her the file.

Remy read through the diagnosis. _Elevated CA 125, diagnostic MRI showed presence of five epithelial tumors between both ovaries and one large tumor in the uterus_.

"She's in Stage Two," Remy said closing the file and handing hit back. "I'm sure Wilson confirmed this."

"Yes, he said that she would need a laparoscopy to remove the tumors and then start a regime of chemo."

"That's sound pretty standard. He's the best, he knows what he's talking about."

"Yes, that's why I went to see him," Blythe told her. "I want my sister under the best care."

"Can I tell Greg?"

"You can," Blythe said with a touch of sadness. "He won't have any feeling about it either way. He barely flinched when I told him his father was dying."

Remy didn't really know what to say. She knew House had a strained and combative relationship with his father, so much so he never talked about it. He acted as if he had just appeared on the earth one day without the benefit of a nurturing family and the sense of belonging. His life was the hospital and the people he'd allowed into his orbit. She and Wilson were the closest semblance of community he permitted.

"Well, enough of this maudlin talk," Blythe interjected. "Things will work itself out. How are you, dear?"

"I'm fine," Remy said casually.

"And Greg?"

Remy smiled knowing full well he hadn't talked to his mother since their luncheon a few weeks ago. Mother's Day had passed and he hadn't even sent her a card, as far as she knew. "He's doing well. He left yesterday morning for his conference. I'm going to pick him up tomorrow evening."

"He seems to be well adjusted to his life since being in that hospital," Blythe stated carefully. This one was a question, not a statement. She was unsure about how he was handling everything and needed reassurance that her son was healthy and working successfully past his issues.

"He has his good days and his bad, but he's more willing to seek out support when he needs it," Remy told her.

Blythe looked relieved. "He never was one to talk about what was bothering him. Even as a child. He would keep to himself and go hide somewhere. Many a time I had to go in search of him. Every time we moved, I had to re-learn the hiding places."

Remy smiled sadly wondering what it was like for him, a man who abhorred change, to have to endure the upheaval of being a military brat. She supposed one was a direct result of the other. "He still does that. He hides in Wilson's office, the morgue, the ER when Cameron was still here. Sometimes, I find him in the third floor janitor's closet or the sleep lab." Remy looked at his mother, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Was he always such a contradiction?"

"How so?"

"I don't know, sometimes he's so serious, so demanding and then others he can't take anything seriously without making a joke out of it."

Blythe chuckled and then waved her hand. "Oh darling, you don't know the half of it. Imagine those curious blue eyes and those serious dark eyebrows on an adorable little six year old."

Remy chuckled at the image. She could just picture him, a little man-child, with long skinny arms and legs, and head full of tousled light brown hair and those deep penetrating eyes. He had an insatiable curiosity now, what it would have been like coupled with the wonderment of a child, she couldn't even begin to fathom.

They finished their dinners and talked for while before it was time to check in on the patient. Walking out to the lobby, Blythe placed her hand lovingly on Remy's arm. "Thank you for taking the time to sit with me. I know how busy you are."

"It was no problem," Remy said. "I enjoyed talking to you. I'm glad we had a chance to get to know each other more."

"Me too, since you are the special woman in my son's life," Blythe said with a smile. "You are a lovely young woman."

Remy blushed a little under his mother's praise. It was nice to hear such sweet things and it made her feel accepted. "Listen, how long are you in town for again?"

"I fly back to Sarah's tomorrow evening," Blythe said.

"Would you like to meet me for lunch tomorrow?" Remy offered. "We could spend a little more time…"

"I would love that," Blythe replied giving her a warm smile. Remy gave House's mom her cell phone number and the address of a little restaurant a few blocks away from the hospital.

The woman enveloped her in a loving embrace and then placed her hand on her cheek. "Take care, darling. I will see you tomorrow."

With that, Remy watched his mother walk out of the door. A peacefulness and contentment washed over her. But the darkest corners of her mind wouldn't allow her to rejoice in it for too long. Her past and her future always seemed to take precedence and she wondered if her own mother hadn't succumbed to such a horrible disease if she would have treated her with such reverence and kindness, as a mother should. Remy supposed she'd never know and vowed that when it came to that for her, when her sensibilities and personality started to deteriorate, it would be the end. No matter what.


	25. Chapter 25

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 25

_A/N: A little smutty-smut and some cuteness to tide you over to the really good stuff coming your way. And thanks to every one who has added this as a favorite. So nice!_

* * *

"How was your day?"

"Boring, obviously… I beat my high score on Tetris on my phone and managed to solve the case from 300 miles away. How is our patient?"

"Resting comfortably," Remy said slipping her key into the lock. It was almost nine thirty and she was exhausted from the day. She was glad it was finally over. "Chase said the surgery went well, no complications."

"Good," his voice murmured. "You finally home?"

"Yes," she sighed depositing her bag on the chair and kicking off her shoes.

"What are you wearing?" he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice.

"My work clothes," she replied saucily. "I just walked in the door."

"Which pants?"

She actually had to look down to check. "My jeans, the really dark ones."

"The ones that hug your ass like a glove?"

Giggling, she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She needed the warm comfort of a rich Merlot. "Yup those would be the ones." She chuckled when he heard his appreciative little growl on the other end.

"Which top?"

"The grey sleeveless one," she told him padding into her bedroom.

"Oh come on, you have five of those," he grumbled. "Be more descriptive."

"The one that has the little beading around the neck and the wider straps," she detailed as she turned on the light by the bed casting the room in a soft amber glow.

"Oh, the one made of the silky fabric that gaps open and I can see your entire bra when you lean forward."

Rolling her eyes, she smiled. "Yes, that one."

"Damn, that one's my favorite," he sighed.

Remy grinned. "I thought the black sheer one with the little pink buttons was?"

"Mmm, I like that one for entirely different reasons."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, you wear the black lace bra and panties with it, and it's always on the first day after your period."

Chuckling, Remy sipped her wine and then placed her wine glass on the nightstand. "And why is that?"

"Because you know how much it turns me on and I can't keep my hands off of you because by then you're a horny little bitch."

Remy laughed and undid the button on her jeans. "You know me so well."

"What are you doing know?"

"Taking my pants off," she purred. "What are you wearing?"

"I'm in a full showgirl's outfit complete with the diamond headdress. What do you think I'm wearing?" he ground out sarcastically.

"A wrinkled white t-shirt and a pair of blue jammie pants." She chuckled when she heard him snort into the phone.

"You're no fun," he complained.

"Am I wrong?"

"No."

"But I bet your hand is in your pants?" she said pulling her shirt over her head.

"You could be right," he neither confirmed nor denied. "Where's your hand?"

"Undoing my bra," she told him as she reached around and unclasped the tight elastic. When her breasts fell free, she breathed a sigh of comfort. It really had been a long day.

"Ah the girls a free," he murmured and in her minds eye, she could see him envisioning her every move. "I miss your love bubbles."

Blushing, though she had no idea why, she said, "They miss you too."

"We should pick up where you so rudely turned your phone off," he suggested.

Remy slipped out of her panties and climbed under the covers of her bed. The cool sheets felt fantastic against her flushed skin. "I had to. I almost had an orgasm at the table in front of God and everyone."

He laughed predatorily. "Wow, I know I'm good with my words, but I didn't realize I was that powerful."

"Telling me you're going to '_lick me like a melting cherry popsicle_' kind of sent me over the edge," she told him with a smirk.

"Turn your lights out," he said. Remy looked around her room and wondered how he knew that she was still in her room. "Stop looking around. Just do it."

Chuckling, Remy took one more sip of her wine and then reached over to flick off the lamp. "Done."

"You're in bed right?"

"Mhm."

"Naked?"

"Mhm."

"Perfect," he drawled. Just the sound of his gravely voice made Remy's senses tingle. She had had phone sex before but the anticipation of this seemed so much more powerful. "Close your eyes," he instructed.

Doing as she was told, she settle back against her pillow. "Eyes closed."

"Now, which hand are you holding the phone in?"

"My right," she answered.

"Switch to the other hand, I need your right hand, it's way more dexterous."

"So detail oriented."

"Always."

Grinning, she switched ears and could feel the body heat radiating from the device as she pressed it to her other ear. "Ok, now what?"

"Take your hand, the right one, and locate your anterior cervical nodes…"

"What am I doing a physical?"

"Shut up, wiseass. No," he grumbled and then his voice took on that same seductive tone he had before. "Feel your pulse. Is it fast?"

Remy breathed. "It's elevated."

"Good. Now trail your fingers down the side of you neck, lightly, like a feather just barely skimming your skin." She followed his lead, closing her mouth to enjoy the sensations as she imagined his hands on her. "How does that feel?"

"Mmm, soft, light, tingly," she murmured.

"Take your finger and trail it down to your collar bone and touch the slight hollow there. It's soft and it's where you smell like your perfume." Remy imagined his lips following the path of her fingers into the hollow of her throat where he would press a kiss and touch his nose softly to her skin, inhaling the scent of her. She loved when he would do that. It felt so intimate and she'd usually caress the back of his head as he hovered, breathing his warm breath across her skin. She could almost feel the burn of it right now.

"Flip your hand over and lower your knuckles in between your breasts." Remy pressed her lips together as she did as instructed. The sensation of her own hands caressing her skin was as powerful as when he touched her. It was like his essence had invaded her skin and he was controlling her. "Slowly, I want you to move you hand over your left breast. Cup it. Gently. Run your palm over it." Remy gasped as her nipple perked up into a tight, hard bud. "Tell me what it feels like."

Remy breathed deeply finding her voice. "It's soft, warm…"

"Good. What about your nipple? Is it hard?"

"Mmm, yes."

"Very good. Now, take your finger and circle around it really slowly," he told her, drawing out his words as he took control over her mind and her body's response. "Pinch it between your fingers and roll it gently, not too hard." Remy stifled a moan as she arched a little off the bed. "No Rem, let me hear you moan."

She circled her finger again and let out the groan of pleasure. _God, this had to be one of the hottest experiences ever._

"Now move your hand to the other breast, do the same thing. Circle lightly, like a feather but this time I want you to suck on your finger, and get it nice and wet."

Remy let out a feral growl as she imagined the devious, seductive smile he had on his face. His blue eyes were probably a deep slate as his passion mounted. Just the thought of his eyes on her as she pleasured herself, made her wild with desire. Placing her finger into her mouth, she let her tongue lave the length of the digit before she moved it back to her nipple as she was told.

"Talk to me," House ordered. "Tell me what you are doing."

"My finger is wet, a little cool to the touch in the air and I'm running the tip of it over my nipple like you said."

"How does it feel?"

"It feels good, almost as good as when your mouth is on me," she purred. She could hear him moan a little in the background. "What are you doing? Where are your hands?"

"Mnn, I could jackhammer through concrete right now, but this is about you not me," he said, his voice a little breathless.

"What do you want me to do? Tell me where to go next."

"Take you hand and flatten your palm against your stomach," he instructed.

Doing so, she felt the tightness of her muscles contract as if he had place the heat of his palm there.

"Circle you hand around, feel the softness of your skin and the slight little dip if your belly button," he said. "It smells wonderful, like frosted vanilla and spice from your body lotion."

Remy reveled in the detail that he knew about her. He paid attention to everything. He knew every square inch of her body and just what to do to get her inferno going. She could see and feel him just as if he were kissing her softly on her abdomen, sniffing her skin and tickling her tender skin with his beard.

"Now I want you to smooth your hand over your thighs, but don't touch the place you want to touch most," he ordered, with a smile in his voice. Remy groaned with anticipation as she began to come apart at the seams. He was drawing out her torture, making her yearn for his command to allow herself release. It was primal, erotic and so very exhilarating.

"Slowly bring your hand up, just barely skimming the tops of your hair," he permitted. "Is it moist? Can you feel the heat?"

Remy was practically writhing against the sheets in need. "Mmm, yes."

"Go ahead, slide you finger inside…"

She gasped as she sought out her coiling heat.

"Yes, Rem, tell me how it feels," he urged.

"It feels amazing," she breathed. "So wet, so hot, just like when you touch me."

"Mhm, imagine my fingers on you, imagine me stroking you…"

"Oh God," she purred. "It feels so good."

"Tell me how you want it," he begged. "Fast or slow."

"Fast, I'm so hot I can't take it any longer," she pled with him as her finger worked the magic he so expertly elicited in her.

"Ok, circle you finger around your clit and then add the second one to create more surface area, more smooth friction."

"Mmm, yes!" God, she couldn't believe how wet and swollen she was. She was going to cum hard when he pushed her over the edge.

"Go faster, circle harder," he said urgently.

Her breathing was coming in pants and she could feel herself begin to tremble with erotic desire.

"Oh God Greg," she cried. "I feel it. I'm so wet. It's pooling inside me."

"Let it go sweetheart. Let me hear you cum."

Stroking herself, she slipped her fingers down to dip inside of her moving in and out. Vividly, she imagined him pumping into her. Spreading her legs wider, she dropped the phone and let her other fingers take over as she imagine his cock slamming into her while she circled her fingers with just the right amount of pressure on her clit. Good God, she hadn't felt this wanton since she had begun her relationship with him. He usually satisfied all of her desires and needs. However, this eroticism took their connection to a whole new level. The pure trust she had in him to allow him to walk her through pleasuring herself made her love him stronger and more deeply than she had before.

Feverishly she touched herself, circulating and stroking, until the tension coiled deep in her belly. Finally, she shattered into a million pieces as her orgasm pulsed furiously inside of her.

"Oh God Greg!" she screamed. "Holy shit! Yes!"

Spent, Remy melted into the mattress, her body boneless and exhausted as her core came to a slow and steady throb, tapering off and eventually setting her free. She let her head loll to the side as she took her time to let her breathing come back down to normal.

Somewhere, next to her on the bed, she found her phone and placed it back against her ear. "Greg? Are you there?"

She could hear his heavy breathing in the receiver and knew he must be coming down from his own explosive orgasm.

"Sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he said, his voice thick with sex. _God, how she wished he was here_. "Goddamn that was amazing."

Remy chuckled and rolled over to snuggle into her blanket. "Maybe one of us should go away more often."

"Fuck that," he grumbled. "I miss you way too much."

Remy smiled into her pillow. "I miss you too." House missed her. She knew he would, but to hear it from his lips made it so very real. Her heart pitter-patted at the knowledge and it made her a little giddy.

"I can't wait to see you again," he told her with a boyish lilt to his voice. "And then I'll do all that stuff to you for real."

She giggled quietly to herself because this was vaguely reminiscent of her teen years and spending long hours into the night on the phone with her latest boyfriend. "Soon. It will go fast and before you know it, you'll be home."

He sighed heavily then into the receiver and was quiet for a long time. She could imagine him closing his eyes as he lay back against the pillow just laying there lost in thought.

"Babe, you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

She knew he wasn't. She didn't want to push, though. If he wanted to talk, he would.

"Tell me about your day," he said instead.

Smiling ruefully at the lost moment, Remy rolled over and recalled every detail of her day to him. When she got to the part about running into his mother, House nearly dropped the phone in shock. That alone was surprising enough but his quiet and almost sad response to the news of his aunt's cancer made Remy concerned.

"Why didn't my mother call me?" he wondered.

"I don't know, maybe she figured you'd be busy," Remy suggested gently.

"She came all the way to Princeton-Plainsboro to talk to Wilson and not me." He almost sounded a little offended.

"Babe, I'm sure she would have talked to you first if you had been here," Remy tried.

She could hear him sigh and run his hand over his face like he did when he was frustrated. "Well, Wilson's the one to talk to anyway. He makes people glad they're dying of cancer."

"Well, now I wouldn't go that far," Remy said dubiously.

"No. Seriously, you have no idea," he grumbled.

"Well, your mother did feel reassured when she left his office," Remy admitted.

"See," he said, vindicated. He was quiet for a moment and then spoke in a voice so low Remy had trouble hearing him. "I can't believe my aunt Sarah is dying. I suddenly feel really old."

"Tell me about her," Remy prompted. Maybe talking about her would help him to come to terms with the fact that it could just as easily been his mother. He may not have been very close to his family, but it didn't make losing them any easier. "What is she like?"

"Who my Aunt?"

"Yes," she rolled her eyes and chuckled. He was such an ass. "Your Aunt."

"I haven't seen her in maybe ten years," he told her. "Actually maybe more than that. It was before the infarction. Stacey made me go for Thanksgiving or something stupid like that. My father was there and it ended in a fight so we left."

Remy didn't want to mention that the story told her nothing about his aunt, but rather a lot more about his relationship with Stacey and subsequently his father. But he was talking so she wasn't going to be picky. "What did your Aunt say when you left?"

"She always had my back. She hated my father," he said and then chuckled. "We used to go sneak a smoke out in the back porch every year during Christmas. She used to hide her pack of Pall Mall's in the overhang from my uncle. She claimed they were her 'sanity sticks'. I think I was twelve when she let me actually smoke with her one year. God, she was so pissed at my father for something he said to me at dinner. She called him a horse's ass and told me that letting me smoke was her way of secretly getting back at him."

"A little passive aggressive," Remy murmured.

"Ha, yeah…It's genetic," he replied. "Anyway, we moved to Japan a few years after and I didn't see her again until I was sixteen and by then I was smoking all sort of things my father would have beaten the shit out of me for. But Christmas was still at Aunt Sarah's and we'd still share our smoke on the back porch."

"It's dysfunctional, but sweet," Remy said.

"Yeah, story of my life," he muttered.

They lay in silence for a long time, enjoying the comfort of knowing they were still connected even if it was through the cell phone line. Remy listened to him breathe quietly, envisioning how his mouth hung open just slightly while he lay relaxed in thought. She loved him so deeply, so ardently that she could not imagine her life without him anymore. He was her home and her solace; for as much as he was a pain in her neck, she wouldn't have had it any other way. Yawning, Remy covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You're tired," he said quietly, his own voice getting heavy with sleep.

"Mmm, yes, I can barely keep my eyes open."

"Go to sleep," he told her.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too," he replied softly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Flight 1197 arriving Newark airport, 7:44 pm," she said.

He chuckled softly. "You have it memorized?"

"I'm counting down the minutes," she giggled.

"Me too," he said. "Me too."


	26. Chapter 26

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 26

A/N: Hang onto to your knickers kids! This starts one crazy ride!

* * *

House sighed and ran his hand over his face in frustration. _Two-hour delay._ He couldn't fucking believe it. Severe thunderstorms over New York City and now he had to wait in the Boston airport until they passed. _Fuck, he was pissed._

He called Remy to tell her not to leave her apartment until at least seven maybe seven thirty.

"It's fine," she said disappointedly. He knew she was looking forward to seeing him again as much as he was. "I'll just stay at the hospital and finish some paperwork so you can just sign it when you get back."

"You fight it but you're becoming my little Cameron day by day," he teased.

"Compare me to Cameron again and you'll find all of your _unsigned_, _unfilled_ out charts sitting smack dab in the middle of Cuddy's desk," she threatened with a tone that said she was half way to his stash in the supply closet already.

He rolled his eyes on a chuckle. "No. You're nothing like her. You're way hotter."

"You're damn right," she boasted. "Oh speaking of… I had to go pick Chase up from Craigen's last night."

"Again? Why didn't he call Foreman?"

"He did. He wouldn't pick up the phone, or so I could make out through the babbling and occasional tears. I guess Foreman's date went better than any of us expected."

House frowned and let out a disgruntled breath as he limped over to the chairs where his ass would find a home for the next two hours. He juggled his coffee and cane under his arm because his other hand was occupied holding his phone. "I don't want you going out in the middle of the night to pick anyone up anymore."

He heard her let out an incredulous laugh and then all of a sudden she got quiet for a long, drawn out moment. "Lightening never strikes the same place twice, House."

"Yeah, and young do-gooders in love aren't suppose to die because protein bound to their kidneys in bus accident in the middle of the night because they were picking up some drunk asshole either."

She sighed quietly. "Okay."

House looked around the crowded airport watching the throng of people go by. Families with kids trailing after, adorned with little pink back packs and teddy bears. Flight attendants and pilots with small carry-ons wheeling behind them as the hurriedly went from one connection to another. He didn't mean to get so harsh with her. He hadn't even meant to be so overly protective. That wasn't him. He wasn't that guy. At all. It surprised him too when it came out of him mouth. He was sure Nolan would have all sorts of suppositions of repressed guilt and responsibility he would rather not hear.

He didn't really know what to say to her. So he said nothing and kind of left the ball in her court. They were silent for a while longer. When she finally spoke, her voice was stilted with irritation.

"Um… I guess if your done talking to me, I'm going to go and get started on that paperwork," she said. She was angry with him, probably more because he was quiet than because he'd snapped at her.

He sighed. "I'm sorry." When, she didn't respond, he continued. "I just…don't want…"

"I know," she cut him off gently. "It's ok."

"Ok."

"Go have your coffee. Chill out, read some airport porn, and I'll see you in a few hours," she told him. There was still a twinge of annoyance in her tone, but it was tempered a bit from his apology.

He huffed a little laugh. _God, the woman knew his proclivities too well._ "I actually found a whole issue of University Co-eds. Topless cheerleaders and girl-on-girl action in the campus library. You'd love it."

She chuckled merrily in his ear, her previous anger now forgotten. "I'm sure I would. Now go, I've got work to do. My boss is a sadistic slave driver."

"God, he sounds like such an asshole."

"He's got a cute ass, so it's all good."

House laughed. "See you in a little bit."

"Love you."

"Love you, too," he told her and flipped his phone shut.

"Wow, I heard three things I never thought I'd actually hear you say again in your entire life," a voice came from behind him.

House narrowed his eyes when he heard the comment and he wondered whom they were talking to. When he heard the disdainful laugh, he realized that it was directed at him. It was a bizarre comment coming from a stranger. But there was something about the voice… he knew it.

Turning around to peer over his should, he looked at the person and was shocked to find her sitting there in the flesh. "Stacey?"

"Hello, Greg."

House swallowed and then spun around in his seat. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I would imagine the same as you, " she said with mild amusement. "Waiting for my plane. This seems to be a _thing_ for us."

His brow furrowed and he just looked at her quizzically. It was almost like seeing a ghost. She looked the same, like she hadn't aged a bit. Her hair was the same rich chestnut, her eyes the same deep pools of mocha, her skin clear and unwrinkled. She looked amazing, but then again she always did.

"Nice hair," she smirked.

"Nice ass," he retorted.

She rolled her eyes and then looked away. "You can't see my ass."

"No, but I'm sure its bigger than the last time I saw you," he surmised. "With your penchant for petit fours and such."

She stabbed him with a snide smile and then huffed a sigh, ignoring his derisive comment. "So what brings you to Boston?"

"Medical conference. You?"

"Deposition," she replied.

"Still in Short Hills?"

"Yes. Happily. Still in Princeton?" she asked and then laughed. "Who am I kidding, of course you are. It would take a nuclear bomb to get you out of there and then of course you would stick around to treat all of the radiation sickness."

House tipped his head from side to side, considering her statement. "You're probably right."

"How is Wilson?"

"He's good," he said.

Stacey frowned slightly and then leaned in a little bit. "I heard about his girlfriend."

"Yeah," he murmured. _Amber was turning up like a bad penny today_. "It was… bad. But he's fine. New girlfriend, new apartment, new everything."

Smiling sympathetically, Stacey looked at him. "That's good to hear." She smirked at him taking in his appearance and chuckled. "You look like shit."

"Thank you," he said flatly. "How's Mark?"

Giving him a sidelong glance, she adjusted the closure of her suit jacket. "Fine. We got divorced two years ago."

"Aww, I'm so sorry to hear that, Stacey," he drawled, his sarcasm unmistakable.

"No you're not," she muttered. "It's what you wanted all along."

House sighed and looked at his hands around his paper coffee cup. "No, I didn't. I never wanted you to be unhappy."

Waving her hand dismissively, she blew it off and then swiveled a little to look more directly at him. "Obviously you've got someone new in your life. Do tell…"

He nodded, not really wanting to expand on his personal life with her.

Smiling, she took his silence as being secretive and arched a curious eyebrow at him. "Is it Lisa?"

"God no!"

She chuckled. "You two always did have a thing for each other."

House rolled his eyes and gave a little shudder. "Yeah, in the sense that Lorena Bobbit had a thing for John Bobbit. I like my penis, in tact. Thank you very much."

"Oh," she smiled and then nodded her head knowingly. "Oh! It's Dr. Cameron."

He shook his head and scratched at his beard. _God, this was getting uncomfortable dredging up his past like it was dirty laundry._ "No. Sorry. Wrong again."

"Really?" Now she was intrigued. "I would have thought for sure those were the only two women on the planet that would be able to put up with you."

"It's a big planet," he stated. "You'd be surprised."

"I'm sure," she conceded. "So what is this brave woman's name?"

House grimaced and took a sip of his coffee. He was briefly disgruntled that he was sitting here talking with the ex-love of his life as if they were old girlfriends just catching up on their latest gossip. It was weird, and strange, and he didn't quite know what to make of it.

"Come on, Greg," she cajoled. "We're two old friends passing time in an airport. Let bygones be bygones."

"Well, aren't you the mature, seasoned woman now," he griped. "You weren't so congenial the last time we spoke."

She narrowed her eyes at him and gave him a pointed stare. "I ruined my marriage because of you. Because you pursued me relentlessly and promised me things you could never give." She sighed unhappily and then raised her eyes to him. "Things were fine with Mark for a while, but he never could seem to get over the residual… _presence…_ of you in our life. We tried counseling and books and all the things _normal_ couples do when their relationship falls apart. But we just couldn't get back to where we were before he got sick. You know how that is better than anyone."

House looked at her sincerely. "I'm sorry, Stacey."

She blinked repeatedly at him, stunned into silence.

"I really am," he told her.

"Who are you?" she asked, still unsure about what he had said to her and his intentions behind it.

"I'm me. A lot has happened," he began. "But I'm still me."

She shook her head and wagged that stern finger at him that he used to hate with a passion. "No. Something has changed, something… tremendous."

He shrugged and then looked away. He didn't want to tell her about what happened. He didn't want her pity.

"You are different," she continued. "You're almost… compassionate."

He huffed disgruntledly and shook his head. _Yeah, that was a dirty word._ He had never been called compassionate.

"What happened to you?" she demanded, placing her hand on his arm over the back of his seat.

"Let's just say I gained some perspective and leave it at that," he replied.

"Are you ok? I mean really ok?" she asked, true and legitimate concern invading her voice.

"Yes." He nodded. "Just ducky."

Sitting back against the arm of her chair, she regarded him for a long while trying to ascertain whether she believed him or not.

He rolled his eyes. "Stacey, I'm fine. Really."

His phone vibrated against his hip and he welcomed the intrusion into the difficult conversation her was engaged in. Unclipping it from his belt, he looked at the caller ID and smiled. "Hello, Transvestite Sex Slaves Anonymous, how can I help you?"

"Yes, I seem to be having difficulty with my roommate leaving his porn in the DVD player," Wilson's irritated voice relayed from the other end of the line. "Any suggestions on how to alleviate this problem? My girlfriend was a little unnerved by the close-up of thrusting penises into strange and unique orifices."

"Ah, I see your dilemma, sir," House continued to play along. "First remove the disk from the player and then return it to the video store. Oh and while you're there, can you pick up _Nymphs form the Planet of the Apes 16 _for me, they left me so many unanswered questions in 15, I just can't move on."

He heard Stacey harrumph disgustedly behind him and Wilson echo her sentiment on the line.  
"Sure thing, anything for you," he muttered sarcastically. "When does your flight arrive? And is Thirteen picking you up?"

"Yeah, she's got it covered," he told his friend. Looking over his shoulder at Stacey, she mouthed the question to see if he was talking to Wilson. Rolling his eyes he turned back to look out at the sea of stranded travelers. "You'll never guess who I ran into in the airport."

"The Dali Lama?" Wilson offered. "I heard he was making his rounds through New England medical conferences this month."

"No, asshole," House griped and then gave pause. "Stacey."

Wilson scoffed in disbelief. "For real?"

"Yes, for real." He slid his eyes to her. She was wiggling her fingers at him demanding that he give her the phone. "Apparently she wants to say 'hi'."

Shaking his head, he handed her the phone. "Your phone, Madame."

House listened to her speak with Wilson for a while as he contemplated the strangeness of the situation. This was a bizarre occurrence. Running into her here, rehashing old wounds and talking as friends after everything that had transpired between them. He hadn't seen her in little over four years. That was a long time. He supposed it was long enough for her to get over the hurt he had caused her. Not that he deserved any of it; he had pushed her out of his life twice. And nastily, too. He didn't deserve her forgiveness or her friendship. And he wondered why she was so willing to talk to him so extensively now. It most certainly didn't have to do with being bored and killing two hours worth of time until their plane took off.

Finishing her conversation with Wilson, she closed his phone and handed it back to him. "He sounds good."

"I told you, he is good," he rejoined. "Why are you here? Why are you talking to me?"

The look of surprise made him all the more curious. "Why not? It's been four years, Greg."

He gave her a pointed look, letting her know he was not convinced.

"I heard your voice and I said to myself 'Gosh, that sounds an awful lot like someone I used to know' and to my shock and amazement when I turned around it was you. After four years, I was interested. I wanted to see how you were, because you sounded… happy." She smiled that lovely sad little smile she used to give him when she pitied him and he wanted to hit her. But somewhere, it amused him, how quickly the memories could come flooding back. How quickly she could rile him up with just one look.

She checked the time on her gold watch and then looked up at him with expectant eyes. "Why don't we go grab some dinner and continue this talk?"

House glanced at her, questioningly. _Now she wanted to have dinner?_ He checked his own watch and realized that he was hungry. He supposed sharing a meal wasn't that big of a deal. _How bad could dinner be?_ "Sure. You're buying."

She laughed airily and stood, draping her coat over her arm. "I always did."

They found a table at a nice little restaurant where they served alcohol and real steaks. When the waiter came by, he ordered her a drink. "She'll have a vodka gimlet."

Stacey smiled. "You remembered."

"It's the only thing you drink at a bar," he said, as an aside.

"And for you sir?" the young server asked.

"A coke for me, thanks."

Stacey's eyes went wide. "No bourbon? No gin? No tall frosty beer?"

House pursed his lips together in a frown and stuck his hand out across the table to her. "Hi my name is Greg, and I'm an alcoholic."

She blinked at him in shock. It took her more than a few moments to recover. "Wow. I… Just wow…"

"That's what all the girls say," he jibed. "Oh come on, it's not like you didn't know before the infarction happened. It just escalated to Vicodin with the alcohol afterward."

"I can't believe it," she stammered. "It's truly amazing. I mean, I'm glad and proud of you." She chuckled at her blatant astonishment. "I seriously just can't believe it."

"One whole year yesterday," he admitted. "Well, there's been a few glasses of wine in between with dinner every once in a blue moon, but hard core clean and sober exactly one year ago."

"Good for you," she approved. "What changed? I mean, what happened to make you come to terms with that?"

House looked at her and bit the inside of his lip. He could hear Nolan's voice echo in his mind and knew that he had to push through, tell her the truth to find real closure with her. He had spent so much time discussing his failings when it came to her, now he was faced with the reality of her right in front of him. "I lost my mind," he paused. "I was institutionalized because I was hallucinating Wilson's dead girlfriend and a fellow who had killed himself just weeks before."

She gasped at the news and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh Greg…"

He shook his head to dissuade her from giving him sympathy. "It had been a long time coming. After the bus accident with Amber… that was her name, I had a severe head injury and was in a coma. I lost my dad a few months later."

"I'm so sorry," she empathized.

"I was held at gun point by a crazed patient and almost lost… one of my doctors. Cuddy adopted a baby…"

Her face softened into genuine happiness for her old friend. "That's wonderful."

"Yeah, I was a dick," he confessed. She rolled her eyes, not really surprised.

"And then another one of my team shot himself in the head," he told her bluntly. "No rhyme, no reason. Just out of the blue." He waited for her reaction but she seemed to be just passively listening. He went on, "I couldn't sleep for days. A week later I started to hallucinate Amber. I thought it was great for a while because she tapped into the part of my brain that only I really understand." He laughed ruefully thinking back on it as he explained it to her. "Finally some one else understood the way I thought. Only it wasn't real. It was all just an illusion. When I realized it wasn't a tumor, a brain injury, or something else, I was left with two choices, schizophrenia or Vicodin addiction. I admitted myself into a psychiatric hospital for three months where they detoxed me and I started therapy. Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of being admitted."

"Oh Greg, that's awful," she said resting her hand on his, clutching his fingers against hers. Her touch burned him and he wanted to pull his hand away but he couldn't. Something kept his fingers there underneath her palm, as if they were always supposed to be linked, connected in this way.

Forcing himself, he tugged his hand back to his side of the table and looked away from her. "Remy's her name. She works for me. Right from the start, we had a…"

"Thing," she laughed, finishing his thought. "You always did fall in love really fast."

"Yeah, who knew…" he shrugged. "She um… completes me." He scoffed at his own sappiness and rolled his eyes. "God, I sound like a damn cheesy date movie."

"No, don't say that," she smiled. "It's really nice to hear you talk like that. It's good to hear you happy after all that you been through. Do you have a picture of her?"

"Yeah," he answered, taking his cell phone off of his belt clip. Finding one that was appropriate enough to show her, he turned the phone in her direction.

She grabbed the edge and then tugged on it. "I don't have my glasses, I need it closer." Reluctantly, he relinquished the phone to her to let her inspect his newest love. She leveled a saucily look at him, with a teasing twinkle in her eye. "She's very beautiful." The twinkle sparkled brighter. "And very young."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," he grumbled taking his phone back.

Laughing, she took out her own phone and searched for a photo of her own to show him. "Since were sharing, I have some news for you," she said handing him her phone. "This is my daughter Ariana."

House almost fell out of his chair. "You have a daughter?"

"Yes, she's three…" she looked him, "… and a half."

House narrowed his eyes and stared at the beautiful little girl in his hand. She had her mother's rich dark hair and beaming smile. It was an iPhone like Remy's so he zoomed in on the picture. His mouth opened and he looked up at Stacey. His heart had just stopped.

"She has blue eyes," he said. It was almost a whisper. There wasn't much that made him speechless, but this had nearly knocked the wind right out of his sails.

"Oh get over yourself, Greg." Stacey barked at him and then laughed haughtily. "She's not yours."

He cleared his throat and the asked when he finally found his voice. "Are you sure?" _Three and a half years old. The last time he saw her was over four years ago. He wasn't wrong in thinking… _

"Yes," she answered, taking her phone back. "Mark's mother has blue eyes and so does my father."

Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, he did recall that. "Recessive blue on both parents sides can result in a blue-eyed child."

"Yes, doctor," she said. Closing her purse, she hung it on the back of the chair. "She's the light of my life."

"Wow," he exclaimed, still bemused by the news. "I never realized you wanted kids."

Stacey grinned at him and then laughed that sad laugh at him again. "_You_ never wanted kids, Greg. I did."

"But we talked… you said…" he was confused. _Had she kept that from him all that time?_

"I know what I said," she replied. "I loved you and was willing to sacrifice to be with you. But after I married Mark," she shrugged and then got a wistful look in her eye. "I don't know, it just seemed like a possibility again. When the time was right."

"After you went back to him," he finished for her.

"Yeah. We started over. We moved back home. He was doing his therapy. We became a couple again. I never stopped loving him, just like I never stopped loving you…"

* * *

Remy paced the waiting area for what seemed like the twentieth time. It was late and she was tired. She'd hit traffic on the Turnpike so she was a little irritable. She just wanted to see him, give him a big hug and get home.

When she finally saw him limp through the gate, her heart sped up. God, she really missed him. Painfully so.

He limped over to her and she could tell his leg was stiff from being seated in one position for so long. He was exhausted and in pain and he telegraphed it with the dark scowl on his face. _Damn it, he was cranky._

He finally reached her and she didn't care how tired he was. Throwing her arms around his neck, she squeezed him tightly, kissing him gently letting him know just how much she missed him.

He smiled briefly and curled his hand around her waist. He hugged her back and pressed a little kiss to her forehead as he closed his eyes and sighed, breathing in the scent of her hair like he always did. Remy smiled, enjoying the feel of his arms around her and the strange combination of his regular smell mingled with that of the stale air from the plane. He was home and she was glad.

Sensing the presence of someone watching them, Remy pulled away from him and looked quizzically over her shoulder before bringing her eyes back to his. She was confused and more than a little perturbed with who she saw standing next to him.

Remy watched him close his eyes in resignation and take a fortifying breath. There was no doubt he knew she had recognized Stacey from the picture in his desk.

"Remy, this is Stacey," he introduced.

Despite her best efforts, her eyes got wide and her mouth dropped open in shock when she heard the name pass his lips. Quickly however, she pasted a mask of politeness onto her face to cover up her wariness of the situation. She felt his fingers tense against her back and she knew immediately that he was uncomfortable with the awkward setting.

Keeping her arm wrapped around him to childishly mark her territory, Remy extended her other hand in greeting. "Hi, nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Stacey acknowledged. Her voice was thick, sultry, with a faint tinge of a Southern accent. Of course it was sexy. "Greg and I wound up on the same flight from Boston and had some time to catch up with one another."

"I see," Remy nodded. "How nice for you." _Shit, she hoped that didn't sound as bitchy as it felt coming out of her mouth._

Stacey grinned, flashing her dark eyes between both 'Greg' and her. _God, she was really beautiful after a long delay and then two-hour flight at nine-thirty at night. How fucking perfectly coiffed she was…_ _not an eye bag or saddle bag in sight. _Remy wiped at her own eyes knowing full well her eye bags had fifty-pound luggage in them.

"Well, it's late," the woman began, after waiting them both out. "We both have an hour's drive in opposite directions to get home and I, for one, cannot wait to walk through the door and give my little girl a kiss." She extended her hand out again to Remy. "It was really nice to meet you." Turning, she gave House a kiss on the cheek that lingered a little too long for Remy's liking and whispered something personal into his ear. Pulling back, she smiled warmly and then said, "It was so good to see you again. Take care, both of you."

House's fingers slipped from Remy's back as he watched the woman walk away tugging her carryon behind her like all the other business travelers around them. She felt a sharp pierce of jealousy invade her heart and she was loathe to admit just how much the look on his face made her want to cut that bitch's eyes out. _Wow, she needed to get control of herself._

"Well, that was… unexpected." She murmured without looking at him.

"You have no idea."


	27. Chapter 27

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 27

_A/N: Ok, so Stacey was a HUGE shock huh? YAY! Fooled you! The next few chapters are shorter than my usual because the next sequence happens in distinct segements that are not necessarily long but all tie together into one BIG development. And that's all I have to say about that! Hang on for the ride my friends..._

* * *

It was Monday morning, a little under a week had passed since Remy picked House up at the airport. Since he'd come home, he'd been grumpy, withdrawn and all around non-communicative. At first, Remy decided to just gave him some space. She didn't want to push. It had been a pretty monumental trip for him between the anniversary, the first time spending significant time alone and… Stacey.

Remy still couldn't get next to that. How the hell, in all the millions of people that flew every day, that _she,_ of all people, would end up in the _same_ airport, in the _same_ city, at the _same_ time as him was completely beyond her. Remy was angry. She was frustrated and she was more than a little curious as to what had transpired between them. Because he sure as hell was different since he'd seen her. And that pissed Remy off more than she cared to admit.

She was jealous. It was true. She couldn't help it. It wasn't every day that the woman of your lover's dreams walked back into his life and made her presence known again. Stacey had such a hold over House that he had been virtually single for over a decade. _What man does that if they weren't truly crushed over their breakup?_ Sure he had sex with people. But sex didn't amount to relationships. And, not to mention, he had told Remy once, a while ago, that she was only the second woman he had ever said he loved. That was pretty huge. So, while she felt incredibly significant to be _that_ important to him, it didn't quite hold up to the _first_ woman he had said he loved. That one seemed way more historic, especially considering he was in his early thirties when he said it.

Despite his introverted attitude, they had spent time together over the weekend, but not nearly as much as normal. He had actually spent most of Saturday afternoon with Wilson. He didn't say where they went or what they did, but he smelled like beer when he'd come over that night. Remy didn't question. Nor did she complain when he fell asleep on the couch watching the _What Not to Wear_ marathon. She had at least gotten a tip about how to combine a cool trendy cut of a jacket with a belt. And she vowed to go right to her closet and toss out her suspenders from college, because nothing screamed lesbian like a pair of suspenders and a loosely knotted tie.

By the time this morning rolled around, neither one of them was really speaking to each other. He obviously had nothing to say to her and she… well, she had a whole lot to say to him, but none of it was really helpful or fair. So she just kept her mouth shut. They had traveled to work, skipped the coffee and were now embroiled in a vicious differential. Everyone was a little on edge because they had absolutely no idea what this poor guy had. It didn't match any kind of symptom logic, disease progression or remote chance of a diagnosis. None of it added up.

House had written the symptoms on the white board more just to organize his thoughts as he systematically disregarded everything that came out of their mouths. He was being such an ass this morning that she wanted to shove his cane up his rectum, curved end first.

_Photophobia, sleep disturbances, abdominal pain, severe headaches for 3 months, and a psychotic break that caused the guy to jam a pair of scissors into his liver…_

Chase had actually been in the ER when the patient came in last night and had scrubbed in on the surgery. He claimed had never seen such damage. The injury to the liver was extraneous and wasn't really a symptom. The others, however, were.

"No! No! No! and No!" House shouted at them. "What part of 'it's not encephalitis' aren't you getting?"

"We should do a lumbar puncture to confirm," Taub insisted.

"There a reason we don't do lumbar punctures when there's ICP, but if you hadn't been fucking the shiksa in the dorm room next door during med school, you'd know that."

Remy rolled her eyes and then made a face at Taub, displaying her displeasure for the whole dysfunctional process.

"I suppose you have a better idea, Dr. Thirteen," House turned on her.

"Maybe if you'd take that huge bug out of your ass and stop ridiculing everything we say, things might be a little more productive," she countered with a sharp edge to her voice.

His eyes blinked in incredulity and scoffed at her. "Yes, maybe if I coddle you and tell you all your ideas are just so brilliant, the very sick man down the hall will just magically heal from all of the positive feedback I'm giving!"

Remy opened her mouth to volley another shot back but Chase cut her off.

"Look, the guy is way past the point of being cautious about which treatment or test is going to do more damage," he interjected. "A lumbar puncture with ICP is his only shot to rule out brain infection. Unless you want to just crack open his head and poke around with a stick to confirm… because I'm thinking with the mood you're in, that's where you're going next."

"He's right," Foreman added. It was clear from his tone that he was annoyed with House, as well. House had gotten under everyone's skin this morning and it was only nine-thirty.

Remy watched House run a hand over his eyes and think about what to do. When he came up for air, his face was hard, but it was clear he recognized that they really had no other option.

"Go do the puncture," he ordered gruffly and then left the room to presumably go hide, bitch or moan, or whatever it was he did in Wilson's office.

"God I hope this works," Taub muttered as the got up. "Because if he's this much of a prick right now, I can't imagine if this guy actually gets close to dying."

* * *

Mercifully, hours later, the patient was stable. He had come through the lumbar puncture with flying colors. No infection. No brain hemorrhage. However, no real answers.

It was after lunch and Remy accidentally ran into House by the nurse's station as she came out of the patient's room. She had successfully avoided him since his little blow up in diagnostics during the differential and she wasn't really thrilled to see him now. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his cane tucked inside, casually just watching her. She wanted to keep walking by, but he was wearing his light gray sport coat over a black shirt today and he looked so sexy that she wanted to just haul off and punch him. _Damn him for being so sexy and annoying at the same time._

Coming up in front of him, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. He lowered his gaze to meet her and a hint of a smile hovered over his lips as she silently challenged him.

Waiting him out, she swallowed. "I take it you're still in your pissy mood?"

"Maybe," he said pushing off the wall and beginning to limp down the hallway fully expecting her to follow him.

Rolling her eyes, she complied. Unable to take his attitude any more, she grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her. He came to a stop and simply glared at her. "What is going on with you?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he lied.

"Nothing?" she hissed and then looked around lowering her voice. "Nothing? You've been in a shitty mood since you've gotten back from Boston. I've given you more than enough space to work out whatever shit is going on in you head. I haven't complained, I haven't even pressed you to talk, but seriously, I've had enough."

He leaned on his cane and then peered into her eyes. A slow smile, crept over his lips as he bent his head in closer to her face. "You think this is about Stacey?"

"No!" Now it was her turn to lie.

He raised a dubious eyebrow at her, grinning deeper.

"Yes! Fine," she exclaimed in exasperation. "What else am I supposed to think?"

He dipped his head right next to her ear and placed a soft kiss there. "It's not about Stacey."

Remy pulled back confused and utterly at a loss for words. He had just displayed a decent amount of affection in a public space. First he was a grump of biblical proportions and now he'd just kissed her in public? It was weird and she didn't know what to do. Before she realized, he was walking away from her to the elevator. He stepped inside and she watched the doors close on him, leaving her standing there in the wake of his… what exactly, she had no idea.


	28. Chapter 28

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 28

The next day, Remy was exhausted, physically and emotionally. She had gone home to her own apartment around midnight after they had to rush their patient to emergency surgery to remove a two-foot section of bowel. House had gone home with Wilson and ordered them to page him if anything changed. Frankly, she was glad to be away from him for a little bit, which was ironic, because only a week ago she couldn't wait to see him again. He had infuriated her yesterday with his attitude and then he thoroughly confounded her. His little emotional roller coaster was enough on any given day, but yesterday she just wasn't psychologically capable of enjoying the ride.

It was morning now. She had just been in to do her rounds, checking on their patient, and was coming into Diagnostics to make herself a cup of tea before the day got rolling. The boys were already in and had mercifully started the coffee because she could smell it as soon as she stepped off the elevator. When she opened the door and saw House at the table in the middle of an animated conversation, she was flabbergasted. Not only was he ridiculously early for himself, he looked bright eyed and bushy tailed. He flashed a smile at her and then continued on with his story. "So, I said to the guy, 'the only kind of exam she's gonna give you is a prostate check with your slap and tickle'."

Chase chortled in laughter and Taub smirked like he'd been let into the 'he-man woman haters club'. Thirteen harrumphed to herself at the rapid turn around in his attitude form yesterday. _Well, he, Alfalfa and Spanky could go scratch…_

Remy eyed the room dubiously and then suddenly began to make a show of looking around the corners and under tables and chairs.

"What are you doing?" Chase asked her.

"I'm looking for a tarantula or a pterodactyl size bug," she told him, pushing her hair back behind her ears. She looked up and House smirked at her. "I'm figuring it must have crawled out sometime before he left last night because he's obviously on Comedy Central today."

"Evidently, you are too," House tossed at her with a smirk from behind his red mug.

Her grin only made it half way as she stabbed him with a look. _Damn it, he was even sexier today._ Black sport coat, baby blue shirt, that was _almost_ neat, and a white tee underneath. Hot damn. She brought he hand to her rub distractedly at her eyebrow. She had to mentally focus and just keep walking to the coffee maker. _Fuck the tea, she needed caffeine to be ready and alert if she was going to tussle with him and his potentially giant-sized bad mood again today_.

Fixing herself a cup, she came to sit at the table. There was a strange and awkward silence as everyone sipped at their respective coffees. That was until he opened his mouth.

"Oh my God! Like, everyone _who knows_, is at the table here," he announced as if he were a blonde valley girl who just got the joke. "The only one, _who doesn't know_, isn't here. So we can all, like talk about it, and he'll _still never know_!"

Remy slid her eyes to him and watched him glow in his mirth. Taub and Chase just kind of covered up their amusement by sipping their coffees silently for fear of retribution from her. For some reason, they were completely tickled by him today.

"What's with the Sybil act?" she asked him sharply. "Yesterday you were a raging lunatic, today you're as giddy as a school girl. What gives?"

"So you're the only one who's allowed to have divergent mood swings from day to day?" he countered. "Just because I can shave my face and not my legs… no wait, this one's better because I obviously don't shave my face, just because I don't have a uterus…"

"Oh will you just shut up," she griped, halting his rambling before it went somewhere that really pissed her off.

"Well, now who's swinging to a ten on the cranky bitch-o-meter?" he smirked and added a dramatic roll of the eyes.

"I'm just suffering from a little bit of House-can-be-a-real-dick-lash," she tossed at him.

"Dick-lash? … That sounds like a personal problem _or_ a goodtime," he chuckled, his cronies following suit.

Sighing, Remy stood up from the table and dumped her coffee in the sink.

"Where are you going?" Taub asked her, suddenly a look of concern on his face.

"Somehow clinic duty seems way more enjoyable this morning," she said tightly and walked out the door. She reached the elevator and pushed the button repeatedly hoping to get it to arrive immediately. Of course it didn't. Cocking her hip to the side, she crossed her arms and waited, her impatience mounting incrementally with each slowly passing second.

She could hear the thump step of his sneakers and cane behind her and she closed her eyes taking in a breath. _God, what now?_

He pulled up along side of her and just stood there in goofy adolescent silence, watching the numbers of the elevator tick upward. When the doors finally opened, he stepped inside with her like a shadow. No one was inside the car with them but it was still a little bit of a shock when he put his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him after the doors closed.

"What are you doing?" she asked, resting her hands on his arms to stabilize herself from his swift move.

"What's wrong?" he pressed.

Remy's eyes blinked in confusion and anger. "What's wrong? I asked you that yesterday and you told me 'nothing', that's what's wrong."

"I also told you yesterday that none of this had to do with Stacey," he reiterated, but his tone was gentle, almost loving.

Remy's heart squeezed in her chest. _God, it was really difficult to stay mad at him when he was looking at her lips like that_. "Tell me how am I supposed to believe that?"

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and sighed. "Just believe it."

The bell dinged and they broke apart before the doors opened and she walked out. He remained inside and just kind of looked at her as she watched the doors close on him for the second time in two days.

_Just believe it_… How was she supposed to do that? How was _that_ supposed to make her feel better? He hadn't given her anything concrete, any explanation or anything real to go on. Remy felt no more reassured than she had before she'd stepped foot in the hospital this morning. He was not himself since he returned from Boston and that fact scared her very much. The mood swings, the lows… _the highs_… his giddiness from earlier. She hoped it wasn't what she thought it was. She prayed that it wasn't Vicodin.

Crossing to the nurse's station in the lobby, she checked on her messages. She had a couple of follow-ups from clinic patients, meds she needed to renew and a message from her cousin, which she'd get to later. One of the kids probably needed their allergy medicine refilled. Slipping the pieces of paper into her lab coat pocket, she looked up and saw Cuddy standing on the side of the counter, looking all lovely in her spring pink sweater and floral skirt. Not moving fast enough to avoid her, Remy paused when the woman approached her.

"How is the patient doing?" she asked.

"He's in stable condition. The ICP has gone down and they removed a two feet of dead bowel last night," she relayed. "House thinks it's Chagas."

"Good," Cuddy nodded. "I see you're no longer parked in House's spot."

Remy shook her head and tried to put on an air of levity. "No, I threatened to tell you about the butt so he released me from my obligation."

"Excellent tactic," she said with conspiratorial a little smirk. Remy actually did laugh with her this time. The whole thing was really kind of absurd. _If only she knew it was all a lie…_

"Dr. Remy Hadley…" A loud booming voice abruptly shouted down to her from overhead.

Instantly, both she and Cuddy turned in the direction of the voice. It was coming from the second floor balcony.

It was House…

"Oh God, not again…" Cuddy moaned in dismay.

Remy's eyes went wide. Something wasn't right… But, he didn't look crazed or insane. He had a boyish gleam in his eye._ What the hell was he doing?_

"Catch…" he called to her and tossed down something that she had to sprint a few feet to grab hold of which was no easy task in her slippery heels.

"House…" Cuddy hollered up to him. "Get down here this instant!"

"Not yet…" he refused with a stubborn smirk.

Remy looked at the object in her hand. It was a box.

Cuddy came up beside her and looked at what she was holding. "What the hell is that?"

Remy looked at her. "I don't know."

"Well open it," the woman rushed her in hurried tones. The box was wrapped in gold paper and a shiny ribbon. Like a gift… or a cruel practical joke, Remy wasn't quite sure.

Cautiously, she tore open the paper to reveal a tiny black box…

Like the kind…

"Oh my God!" she gasped as her stomach flip-flopped and her pulse sped up.

"_Remy Hadley, will you marry me?"_

His deep voice echoed throughout the entire lobby and Remy felt herself start to shake as people stopped everywhere, all of their inquiring eyes on her and the crazy man leaning over the balcony railing.

"Oh my God!" Cuddy's voice echoed in utter shock as she covered her mouth with her delicate hands.

Fingers trembling, Remy opened the lid of the clamshell box and her eyes flooded with tears as she saw the beautiful diamond ring nestled in between the black velvet folds of the inside. It was a very large, very delicate, exquisitely designed antique style platinum engagement ring. Astonished, she looked up at the balcony but he was gone. Unsure, uncertain that this was really happening, she looked at Cuddy whose face said it all. The woman was downright speechless.

Suddenly, the elevator doors opened and he stepped out. Remy's heart raced as she laid eyes on him. He had that same, nervous smile on his face as he did the night he first kissed her on the balcony all those months ago. But there was confidence in his step as he ignored the onlookers and made a beeline to her. She was frozen in place as her world suddenly began to spin around her. _This couldn't be really happening, could it?_

As he came to a stop in front of her, his hand came to her face and his fingers curled around the back of her head. His eyes were a deep shade of sapphire and the unanswered question reflected deep within their pools. He was uncertain, afraid she would turn him away. His vulnerability was wide open to her and it all came down to this single moment in time. Everything since he had stepped off that plane had vivid clarity now. Something had definitely changed when he saw Stacey. Something had shifted in him, changed him and moved him. Now Remy realized what it was, what his turmoil was all about. She had become that single woman in his life who mattered, supplanting that first. His unrest and indecision was because she had become his _only_.

He licked his lips and his voice was gravely, thick with emotion. "Will you?"

"Yes!" She cried. "Yes! I will marry you!"

Relief flooded over his features and he pulled her tightly to him, kissing her deeply, passionately, openly announcing to the world that she was his. There was no hiding any more, no clandestine affair, no secrets. The balcony had been his catharsis. His way of coming full circle. What he had committed there one year ago was now replaced with the new memory of how he had asked her to be his wife, his partner. It was a commitment to both himself and to her.

Remy kissed him back, clutching the fabric of his coat under the box still in her hand. Smiling, he pulled back from her slightly and took the box from her fingers. His face was serious but there was joy in his eyes as he removed the ring from its nest and slipped it onto her finger with a reverence that made her heart still.

Remy thought she might actually die with sheer happiness as she stared into the gleaming shining diamond on her finger as she rested her hand against the lapel of his dark jacket. The ring looked like it had been made solely for her. The diamond was beautiful and clear with a series of smaller diamonds flanking it on both sides in delicate scrollwork. And of course it was set in a design that screamed both his perfectionism and her funky flair. He had impeccable taste. _Who knew?_

Out of the corner of her eye, all of a sudden, she could see Wilson looking on with a pleased smile. She hadn't even realized he was in the lobby. Cuddy who had moved over by him, still looked like she had been hit in the stomach with a two by four. Off to the side, Chase and Taub had somehow appeared, as word had spread no doubt like wildfire throughout the hospital. They, too, had expressions of delight as they witnessed the scene that absolutely no one saw coming.

"You are… _so frustrating_!" Remy said as she laughed against the crook of his neck, still in complete disbelief.

He chuckled deep within his chest. "Wouldn't be me, if I wasn't."

"Have you talked to Nolan about this?" she asked cautiously.

"Repeatedly," he said with a self-deprecating smirk. "Many, _many_ times."

Remy hugged him, knowing how much he disliked having to pass his life-decisions by a filter to see if they were good for him or not, but glad he at least had sought out the support. And personally thrilled that the psychiatrist had been given the green light.

People began to mill about, going back to their days, offering congratulations and well wishes to them as they went.

Chase and Taub, Wilson and Cuddy closed ranks around them.

"Nicely played," Wilson said holding out his hand for a shake.

House returned it, though not releasing her totally as his hand slipped down protectively around her waist. "It was a gamble that could have gone horribly wrong."

Remy shook her head and touched her hand to his face. "No, not at all."

The present members of their team shook his hand and offered her gentle kisses and words of best wishes. But there was one in the mix who was not so admiring.

Cuddy's eyes narrowed as she took a breath. "I don't even know what to say." Her tone was cool, almost chilly.

"Congratulations would be a start," House prompted, his tone a little harsh with her.

She raised her eyebrows at him, incredulous. "Congratulations? You want my blessing, House?" her voice quivering in her disbelief. Suddenly, the administrator turned her cool gray eyes to Remy and something changed in them. Remy wasn't sure but she might have seen hurt, possibly even envy. But within an instant, Cuddy's expression changed into her cool, reserved practiced demeanor and any flash of what was there, her shock, her bemused faltering and her irritation was replaced by her supreme professionalism. The woman turned her head to level a reserved, if not stubborn look at House and then spun on her heel and left without even saying a single word to her.

Remy bit her tongue as they watched their boss stalk away back to her little domain. She knew the reaction wouldn't be good but to be faced with it was another thing.

House pressed a kiss to her temple and guided her with a gentle nudge in the direction of the elevator. "Come on, let's go," he said. "She'll have her temper tantrum and it will blow over." He looked over his shoulder at the team, "Everyone, let's saddle up the wagons and head back to the home front!"

Wilson, Chase and Taub followed as they rode the elevator back up to diagnostics.

"Foreman is going to give birth to a litter of kittens," Chase muttered.

"Ya think?" Taub responded dryly.

"He may be more mature than you think," Wilson added optimistically.

"We'll see," House said. "Homey's got a brand new bag, or so he says."

The doors opened and the group stepped out.

In two point five seconds, Foreman rounded the corner and came down the hall… _fast_.

Remy could see the look on his face.

He had heard.

It wasn't just a punch… it was a tackle and a sickening crack as his fist connected hard with House's jaw sending both men into the glass wall with a resounding thud…


	29. Chapter 29

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 29

"You son of a bitch!"

House saw stars as Foreman's fist hit his jaw. The guy was built like a brick shithouse and his knuckles felt like a steel crowbar slamming into his face. House was no glass jaw himself, but he was unstable on his feet and was easily knocked off balance as his fellow tackled him like he was holding the game-winning touchdown pass in his arms.

Their two bodies went careening into the glass wall on the outside of their office. His back hit first, effectively knocking the wind out of him. Somewhere, as House struggled to breathe, he recognized the sound of his cane skittering across the floor and registered the worried gasp from Remy as his head slammed into the thick tempered glass pane behind him. Things happened so fast he barely had time to react, let alone fight back.

Regaining some of his footing when Foreman yanked him forward by his coat lapels, House stood his ground and threw a punch that connected squarely with the bridge of Foreman's nose causing the neurologist to reel back giving House time to steady himself and wipe at the metallic taste of blood from the corner of his own mouth. They glared at each other menacingly, daring the other to fight back.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Foreman roared.

"Bring it on," House taunted, angered by the younger man's arrogance.

Simultaneously, they lurched forward throwing punches that connected head-on against each other's faces. Confusion and shouts circulated around both of them as Remy and the rest of his team tried desperately to break them up. But neither one of them were remotely interested. This brawl was a long time in coming, not just over her, but over six years of shitty, murky water under the bridge between them.

"You ruined my life!"

"I couldn't ruin something you never had!"

In the distance, deafened by the fury racing in his own ears, he heard Wilson order Chase and Taub to back off. "Let them fight it out," his best friend commanded with a knowledge that it would be futile to try to stop them. Especially now.

Foreman lunged at him again, his eyes bugging out in a murderous frenzy. House popped him again in the side of the head but this time it didn't halt his progress. His thick arms wrapped around his gut, sending him into the door and stumbling backwards as the both fell into the DDX office. They crashed into the table knocking over a chair and various things from the surface. Foreman's body, taut with tension and rage, splayed over his, trapping him against the tabletop as he pushed against his jaw trying to forcibly rip his head from his shoulders. House punched him a few times in the ribs to get him off while Foreman connected a few more times in the mouth almost knocking some of his molars loose.

Receiving a good blow to the kidney from House's upper cut, Foreman rolled away, giving House a clear shot to kick him in the solar plexus sending him crashing back against the inner wall between his office and theirs. It didn't keep Foreman down for long, though. He came right back at him and threw him like a rag doll into the white board. The board tipped over with them on top of it and they fell against the bookshelf sending plants, biological models and textbooks, crashing to the floor.

"She was my girlfriend! I loved her!"

"You tossed her aside because you were selfish!"

Foreman slipped on a pile of papers that had flown off the desk and lost his balance giving House an opportunity to grasp at his lab coat and return the favor of throwing him against the kitchen counter. The cacophony of shattering ceramic echoed in their ears as they continued to beat the ever-living shit out of each other.

Punch after punch connected and made their mark. Neither one really gaining dominance over the other. House may have had fifteen years on him and a gimpy leg, but he'd been in his fair share of bar fights, even after the infarction, and knew how to handle himself. They struggled and fought like teenagers in a rage. Blinded by their hate, and anger and the surge of testosterone as they continued the primal rite of fighting over a pretty girl.

"You wasted your chance," House growled at him inches from his face. "Now she loves me! And you can't stand it!"

"It's just one more thing that you've taken from me, one more reason for me to hate your fucking guts!"

Suddenly, inexplicably, they were pulled off of each other by hands way bigger and way stronger than either of them. House couldn't see as blood poured into his eye from a cut somewhere over his brow. He roared like a one-eyed lion, angered that the fight was stopped by someone who was not one of the two of them. They were in a fight to the death, or at the very least until one of them got knocked out. How dare anyone come and stop them.

"Enough!" came the shout from the center of the room.

Even in his state of rage, he recognized Cuddy's voice. Shrill, harsh, unforgiving. He was really up shit's creek now. She was infuriated.

Shaking violently now from the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, House fought to keep his breathing under control and to allow himself to calm down. His lungs heaved in gallons of air as his mind began to clear and rational thought began to take root.

_Remy_.

Surely she was pissed. And worried. No doubt upset.

He closed his eyes in shame, as that was his only feeling of regret about the whole incident. He didn't want upset her, not so soon after asking her to be his wife. But God, he'd wanted to kick Foreman's ass for a goddamn long time. And for as broken as he was going to feel in a matter of hours, it felt fucking good to get it all out, even if it meant he had to grovel to get her to forgive him.

"I cannot believe the display of infantile behavior you two just exhibited," Cuddy screamed at them. "This is a hospital for crying out loud, not a boxing ring. How dare you behave like childish idiots and have a barroom brawl in my hospital. Who do you two think you are?"

She wheeled in on House, her eyes shooting fierce, daggers at him. "I am so fed up with your antics, House. Your planning and scheming. And your adolescent displays. I have had enough!" Spinning around, she jabbed a finger in Foreman's face. "And you! You were the level headed one who was supposed to keep him in line and you go and do this?"

Suddenly, she turned to Wilson. "And you! Don't even get me started on you! You could have stopped this, but you didn't, all of you" she hollered waving her arm to sweep Chase and Taub under the bus as well.

"And you," she next turned her venomous ire onto Remy. "Don't think you're innocent in this. This is all your fault."

"Excuse me?" Remy exclaimed.

"Engaging in not one, but two inappropriate office affairs," Cuddy spat at her. "I have half a mind to fire you right now."

House shook off his keeper's large hands and advanced on Cuddy. "Back off of her right now."

"This is why you don't sleep with your coworkers, House. Because someone always gets hurt and it never works out. Ever!" She pushed her finger against his chest and dropped her voice to a deadly level. "I don't care if she's your future wife or whatever, she's a liability and I want her gone."

House's world spun out of control as he watched Remy's eyes glaze over and fill with tears. She gave him a shaky look, deeply hurt by the older woman's unfair comments. Not wasting any time, she fled from the room. Chase and Taub looked back at him in shock. Wilson frowned at Cuddy in disappointment and Foreman sneered still reeling from the fight. The only thing that could be read off of him was pure hate.

"You two are suspended for two weeks without pay," Cuddy hissed at them. "Get yourselves patched up and then get your things and get out of my hospital."

House advanced on her so closely that the security guard who was once holding him stepped forward and put his extra-large hand on his chest to push him back a step.

"I quit."


	30. Chapter 30

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 30

_A/N: Ok, so now what? He up and quit. Can you believe it? I couldn't believe it either as it came flying out of my fingers when i wrote it. But, it made sense. So now what indeed? Where does he go from here? The possibilities are virtually endless. _

_Thank you, thank you to all of you who have reviewed and alerted and favorited. If I missed responding to your review, I am truly sorry. Just know how much I appreciate all of you that are following this story so eagerly!_

* * *

House's head was starting to hurt badly but he needed, _had_ to see Remy. He didn't care about anything else than making her understand that she was the only thing important to him right now. Not Cuddy and her bitchy tirade, not the fight with Foreman, not his job, his career, not anything but her. It had been about a half an hour or so since she'd gone tearing out of the hospital after Cuddy unceremoniously fired her and he was hoping desperately that he'd be able to find her at her apartment. He was so angry for what had gone down that he was fit to be tied.

When Cuddy placed the responsibility on Remy for what had occurred, House saw nothing but fury. He had never wanted to hit a woman so badly in his life, but his father's voice echoed in his head that no matter how evil, how much they spited you, you never, ever hit a girl. That philosophy evidently didn't apply to smart mouthed children, but that was a different story. So he did the only thing that he could to hurt her. He quit.

He knew that Cuddy's reaction was one sprung out of jealousy. That the shock of finding him in a relationship was too overwhelming. She was hurt by his feelings for someone else and the fact that he had hid them so expertly from her made it worse. But when she turned around and placed the blame on the one person whose fault it was not, he could no longer look at her with any kind of sympathy or respect. He only saw her ugliness, her naked envy and wrath and it made him want to vomit. After all that she had put him through, how she had flaunted Lucas in his face when she knew it caused him pain, he had never hurt her like she had hurt him today. He was done. Done with her, done with her precious hospital and if it meant he was done with practicing medicine, then that was fine too. He would go into research like he had planned after he had gotten out of Mayfield. He and Remy would be fine. Because truthfully all he cared about right now was spending the next ten to fifteen years making her comfortable and happy.

Coming out of the elevator in her apartment building, he knocked on her door with his sore knuckles. His fingers involuntarily made a fist as the sting shot through clear up to his forearm. His hands were still shaky as he came down from the fight and he would have used his cane to do the deed instead, but he had lost it in the fray and had limped out of the hospital without it. He desperately needed its support right now as he leaned his sore shoulder against the wall to keep him upright. He knew he looked somewhere akin to something the cat dragged in, a beaten-up busted excuse of a man, limping home to lick his wounds and lament the actions of the day. He didn't care. He just needed to know if the woman he loved was ok.

Her eyes when she opened the door told him everything. She was hurting. Deeply. She may have tried to give off the appearance of being tough and capable of handling all the world could throw at her but really, deep inside, she was a scared sensitive little girl whose feelings were hurt when people accused her of things that were beyond her control or her doing. She took things personally, even when she tried hard not to.

Tears brimmed at her eyelids as she took in his appearance. She felt guilty, however misplaced it was. And that broke his heart because the last thing she should be feeling today was responsibility for anything that took place.

Heavily tramping forward, he stepped into her place and closed the door behind him. He folded her into his arms and he felt her melt slightly under his touch. But, as soon as she was in his arms, she was out, hesitantly pushing back away from him. She shook her head as she wiped at the tear that slid down the side of her nose. The ring he had given her was hooked on her pointer finger, not where it should be on her left hand as he had placed it there just a over an hour ago. She held it out to him and with more tears, begged for him to take it. "I'm sorry for all of this. _It is my fault_."

"No," he hushed her and pushed the ring back at her. "I quit."

Her eyes opened widely and she looked at him in alarm. "What?"

"I quit," he repeated and stepped forward to take her into his arms again.

"What do you mean you quit?"

"I… quit…"

"Just like that?"

"Yes. Just like that."

She shook her head as surprise flickered in her swollen red eyes. "Oh my god, you can't! This job, the hospital… it's your life!"

He shook his head. "No. Not anymore. This job, these people… that place. I'm done with it. It consumes my life. It makes me do things that… I can't control. I can't go back."

"But what about the medicine? What about your mysteries, the puzzles? You love what you do." Her eyes were in a panic. There was only one time he had ever seen her so stricken… that horrible day when she walked out of the ambulance with Kutner's blood on her face. Though the situation would never hold a candle to that event, it was palpable nonetheless.

He touched his hand to her hair, tears coming to his eyes. He fought to keep them at bay as they stung against his eyelids. "None of it matters anymore if I can't share it with you."

Her body shuddered in his arms and her hands came up to frame his face gently. "I love you, so much."

"I love you too. None of this… none of it is your fault."

She pressed her lips to his and reflexively he winced as she touched the split and swollen skin. Her face screwed up in pitiful empathy for him. "Oh Babe, you're a mess."

He grimaced and sagged against her as the pain began to suck the rest of his strength from him. "I think I have a concussion."

Slowly, she guided him to the living room where she carefully deposited him onto the sofa as best as she could and then moved into the bathroom to retrieve her med kit. Over the next few minutes she administered to his various cuts and bruises, checking his pupillary reactions to light and palpating his ribs for fractures. He suspected that he might have a few broken ribs. He had landed against the corner of the table and he felt a crack, maybe two.

"You definitely have a concussion. Your left eye is a little slow and you have a goose egg on the back of your skull, not to mention a cut above your eyebrow that should have stitches."

House let his eyelids droop shut as he leaned his aching head against the back cushion of the sofa. "Just tape it closed. I'll just be ninety-five percent pretty. Besides, a scar above my eyebrow will make me look like a badass."

Remy chuckled lightly and set forth with cleaning and dressing his wounds. After giving him some Tylenol for his pain and a bag of frozen strawberries, because it was all she had, for his swelling face, she sat down onto the sofa and guided his head into her lap.

"Where's your ring?" he asked suddenly remembering that she tried to give it back and wasn't wearing it.

"It's right here," she said taking it out of her sweater pocket.

"Put it back on," he ordered her. "And don't ever try and give that back to me again."

Smiling, she did as she was told and bent her head to press a whisper of a kiss on his forehead. "I promise." She held her hand out to his face so they both could admire the sparkle of the diamond as it reflected the light from the midday sun. "I love it. It's just so pretty."

House held her fingers and tried to focus as much as he could on her slender fingers but his eye was starting to swell and his vision was a little blurred. The giant bag of strawberries wasn't helping so he tossed them onto the coffee table. No matter though, he was still pleased with his selection. He had spent hours upon hours Saturday afternoon with Wilson's jeweler to find just the right ring. It came with a matching wedding band that reminded him of a diamond-encrusted tiara with simple art deco scrollwork. It fit her perfectly, elegant and graceful, with a slight edge, just like her.

"How long have you been planning this?' she asked him curiously.

House chuckled because she kind of had him at a disadvantage and was taking complete advantage of his weakened state. "Since I had dinner with Stacey."

"Really?" her voice was genuinely surprised. "What made that happen?"

He laced his fingers in hers but then changed his mind when the bones in his right hand protested in agony. Instead, he placed her hand on his chest and laid his over top, pressing her fingers to his heartbeat. "She said some things to me that made me realize what I really wanted."

"Like what?" she posed carefully.

House thought back to that evening, when it suddenly all became crystal clear…

"_Why do you think we never got married?" he asked her outright._

"_Honestly?" Stacey questioned and he nodded given her the go ahead to be brutally honest. "I think you were too selfish to give all of yourself to someone."_

"_But I was loyal and faithful to you," he reminded her. "I did love you."_

"_Yes, but you never gave me all of who you were. You always held back something, some part of what made you, you." She sighed and then tried again. "I think that if you had committed to me in marriage you would have lost a part of yourself. You would have been totally vulnerable to me. And you couldn't have handled that then."_

_House sat silently and listened to her talk. It was the first time he was really hearing her, in all the years they had known each other, he had never heard her before._

"_You value marriage as the ultimate commitment, it's one of the rare things that I think you truly honor. Sure you poke fun at it and ridicule it and deem it all a sham, but that's because you believe that people don't take it as seriously as they should. Look at your parents, for whatever it was that drew them together, for all the hardships and things they endured, they did it together. Your mother stuck by your father for what fifty years?" When he nodded, she continued her argument. "Marriage between two people is a bond that should be unbreakable. And you tend to push things until they break, partly to see what they're really made of and partly to see if it will go back together. I think you were afraid that if you were bound to me like that you'd push it beyond reparability."_

_His sipped his drink regarding her seriously. "I did that anyway."_

"_Because I hurt you," she stated. "If I hadn't done what I did, you would have died because of your supreme stubbornness. But…" she halted his protest with that finger he hated. "If all of it never happened, you would have eventually pushed me so far away it would have ended the same way."_

"_How do you know that?" he asked her honestly._

"_Because I know you, Greg," she said. "I've always known. I knew it the second time around, I just deluded myself into thinking it would be different, because I wanted it to be different."_

_House breathed heavily and leaned back against his chair. She smiled at him and just holding his gaze with that knowing smirk. "What?"_

"_I know what you're thinking," she declared._

"_How could you possibly know what I'm thinking," he retorted._

"'People don't change_?' That's bullshit and you know it," she countered. "Look at you, you've changed. You're older, wiser, maybe even a little softer. The things you've been through in the last few years _have_ changed you. I can see it, I can feel it. You're in love. Someone other than yourself and your misery is important to you. That's good thing Greg. Revel in it…"_

As he relayed the words that Stacey had told him, he was slowly slipping into the trance of Remy's fingers on his brow as she eased the tension and the pain away. "I realized that you were everything I needed," he told her. "I want to spend the rest of my days with you."

"You do realize that it's the other way around," she reminded him sadly. "That it's the rest of _my days_."

"Yes," he said. "And I don't want to miss a single minute of it."


	31. Chapter 31

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 31

House rested fitfully in Remy's bed until the next day. She had diligently taken care of him, monitoring his concussion and tending to his aches and pains. She had even made him macaroni and cheese to eat because that was all he could really chew for the time being. If he didn't feel like he went twelve rounds with Tyson, this whole little doctor/patient thing would have been kind of sexy. It had been at least ten years since he'd actually played doctor… with a stripper named _Candy Stripper_. Of course now, in retrospect, it was completely unimaginative.

Rolling over onto his back, his ribs protested from the simple movement and his head spun on a delay. His leg actually wasn't the worst of it for a change, but that still hurt too. _God, he wanted Vicodin in the worst way._ The pull was almost strong enough to have to call Nolan, but Remy had kept him grounded as they watched TV throughout the rest of the afternoon and night. They just simply enjoyed spending a quiet, uninterrupted night together because they were unable to properly celebrate their engagement due to the current state of his injuries. So much for fighting for the honor and the right to call her his girl. He may have won in the end but he had his ass handed to him. At least Foreman could boast about that.

"Wilson called again," Remy said airily as she came into the bedroom carrying a cup of coffee and some oatmeal for breakfast.

"Did you tell him I'll call him back later?" he grumbled, inching himself into a more upright position against the many pillows she had given him.

"Yes. He's worried about you," she said coming to lie beside him again. She was careful not to rest any part of her body on his sore one, but remained close enough that he could feel her body heat next to his. Just her presence was soothing and her nearness made him feel marginally better.

Sighing as he rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, House took a gingerly sip of his hot coffee. His split lip still stung when anything touched it but he needed caffeine to get him out of this groggy funk. His concussion was beginning to make him feel a little hazier than he wanted to be at this point.

"We should go over to the loft later today, let him know we're ok," she suggested and placed her hand gently on his blanket cover thigh.

"Yeah," he agreed and then clasped hold of her fingers, looking again in amazement at the beautiful ring on her finger. Even after the battle royale, it still really hadn't sunk in that she was going to be his wife.

"How are you feeling?" she asked with a tiny smile.

"Like a truck hit me," he murmured sarcastically.

"Well, you look like it, but I meant how's your head? Any confusion, fuzziness?"

House closed his eyes and let out another big sigh. "No. I'm just pissed off."

"You didn't have to hit him back, you know," she scoffed gently.

"Sure, I was just going to let him come up and pound my face in to make him feel like the big jilted boyfriend, fuck that!"

Her face grew serious for a moment. "He could have killed you, Greg."

"Nah," House argued with a casual shrug. "He wouldn't have."

"I didn't say he _would_ have… he _could_ have. There's a difference."

"Yeah, and I could have been engaged to Angelina Jolie, there's a hundred million potential scenarios that _could_ have happened," he protested. "I'm still alive. I'll be fine in couple of days. It's no big deal."

"Does it make me a bad person to think it was kind of hot to see you fight over me?"

House chuckled and then held his tender ribs as the movement ached. "No more than it makes me a bad person to want to see you and Cuddy go at it in ring full of jell-o."

Remy chuckled a little and he glanced at her to see her smile ruefully. "So now what?" she posed.

House shrugged and drank his coffee for a bit. He'd been thinking about that on and off since he'd left the hospital. _What happened now?_ Now that he walked away from everything he'd known for the last fifteen years. Toying with her diamond with his thumb, he shrugged. "I suppose we plan a wedding."

"Greg, that's like the least of our problems now," she chided practically. "Neither one of us have jobs to be paying for a wedding. You and I both need health insurance way more than a fancy wedding."

"I have tons of money," he told her nonchalantly.

"Oh, what are you secretly a billionaire bachelor?" she joked.

"Not billionaire but… a few million would be more accurate," he said.

"What?" She sat up and looked at him incredulously. "Shut up! You're so lying to me."

He shook his head and gave her a thin smirk only because his mouth wouldn't move any further. He was actually quite amused by her reaction to the news.

"Come on," he laughed, "I haven't paid for anything in over fifteen years. I've been freeloading off of Wilson since forever. Momma taught me to be a good saver. I taught me to be a better gambler."

She shook her head and blinked at him for a moment. "But you still pay for your condo, food… you know, general _stuff_…" she objected.

"Nope. Condo is owned outright, paid that off in 2001, bourbon and take out pizza or peanut butter and jelly was about all I ate," he replied. "Anything else, Wilson paid for, or I gambled and won it back twofold. I'm telling you, we don't have to worry about anything."

She eyed him doubtfully as she bit her thumbnail. "A _few_ million? Like millions, plural?"

He laughed and touched his bruised knuckles to her face. "Seriously. I play the market and I've invested in some really good ventures. I took a hit when the market went bad but it's growing back steadily. We could retire now on slightly less than what my salary was, pay for health insurance and still be comfortable for a long time."

"Wow," she mused drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around the front of her legs. "This is a shock."

"Yeah well," he shrugged, suddenly feeling a little shy. "Whatever you want, we can do. You name it."

"I don't really know what I want," she pondered looking into his eyes. "I never really thought I'd be in this position."

He looked into her face and was taken all over again by how beautiful she was. And he was reminded by just how deeply his love ran for her. Deep enough to walk away from a life he couldn't live without. "We have no obligations, no responsibilities to anyone, we can go, do, be whatever we want. We can stick it to the man, _man_…"

She laughed at him and then laid down with her head on his lap. Her eyes peered up at the ceiling and he could see the wheels turning as she began to scheme. After a bit, she announced giddily, "I think we should run away to a foreign country and just live the rest of our time making love in the afternoon and doling out medical advice on Kutner's old site for chump change. What you think?"

House chuckled. That actually sounded like a nice and highly plausible option. He tipped his head from side to side gently. "I know this amazing beach in Okinawa where we could buy a bungalow. When I was there as a kid, there was this old guy that lived there and he used to fish…"

"That sounds really cool," she mused.

"Its warm and sunny and no one to bother us."

"Or Mexico," she pondered.

"Nah, I'm not allowed back in Mexico," he murmured. When she looked up at him warily, he waved it off non-committally. "Don't ask."

"I got it!" she gasped, as her eyes widened excitedly as her thoughts raced wildly in her head. Sitting up again she knelt closer to him and searched his face keenly. "Tuscany. I've always wanted to live in Tuscany!"

"But I don't speak Italian," he objected half-heartedly, "I can speak enough Japanese to get us by and hire a prostitute, but…"

She playfully smacked at his chest far enough away from where his broken ribs were, but his muscles were still sore and he grunted. She immediately felt bad and leaned over to kiss him. "Oh Babe, I'm sorry," she said smoothing her hands over him.

He groaned louder and played it up for sympathy. "Oh, that hurts…"

Smiling, she had already caught onto his game. "Tell me where, it hurts," she cooed.

"Right here," he pouted, pointing to the corner of his mouth. She dotted a kiss there and he pointed to another spot where her lips followed. "Right here… and here." She smiled at him and he lifted the sheet and wiggled his eyebrows at her comically. "Right here?"

"Forget it, buster. Not a chance," she declined with a firm hand to his chest and sat upright again.

He dropped the sheet in disappointment and rolled his eyes. "Already? We're not even married yet."

She clucked her tongue at him and shook her head. "You have a concussion and two cracked ribs."

"Last time I checked, there weren't any ribs in my penis," he objected.

"We'll see how your eyes are later and then I'll reassess," she said, wearing her professional demeanor, effectively shutting him down with her rational argument.

"Fine," he acquiesced and then snuggled further into his pillow. If he wasn't going to have sex, he was damn well going to get more comfortable and maybe take a nap. He was still wiped. "Tuscany, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm sure Okinawa's is nice, but, Tuscany's got better food," she rationalized.

"True," he agreed thinking about it for a moment when an idea suddenly came to him "Would you want to get married there?"

She screwed her face up in thought as she considered this. "I don't know," she stated with an air of possibility. "What about all of our friends, though? They'd have to travel."

"Who, Wilson?"

Remy made a face and rolled her eyes. "We have more than just Wilson… I have friends too, you know…" she argued pathetically.

"I have never met these so called 'friends'" he joked making air quotes with his fingers.

"That's because you're an ass and you'd scare them away," she told him.

"Well good maybe then they wouldn't want to come to Tuscany for our wedding," he chuckled.

"Would you really want to get married there?" she asked him seriously.

"I would get married in Vegas for all I care," he replied. "My mother might have a heart attack, but whatever."

"Oh my God! Greg," she exclaimed excitedly. "We have to call your mother."

He laughed at her girlish enthusiasm. However, he wasn't quite ready to announce everything to his mother. And besides, she was busy dealing with his aunt's cancer. "Soon enough."

"You're telling your mother we're engaged, within the next day," she informed him pointedly, as if she could read his mind. "You are not going to spring this on her the week before our wedding. 'Oh, by the way mom, Remy and I decided to get married, are you free Saturday between the hours of two and nine?'"

"Why not, that's sounds totally plausible to me?" he grumbled.

"Because, she's your mother, she loves you and she deserves to know," she protested firmly.

"What about your dad?" he countered with an arched eyebrow.

He watched her draw in a quick breath. "He doesn't even know I'm seeing anyone."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?" House asked her curiously.

"Before Christmas," she shrugged.

Something in the evasive way she said that made House's eyebrows draw together in concern. "He doesn't know about the Huntington's does he?"

Remy looked away from him and brought her attention to a random piece of fuzz on the blanket.

"Look at me," he ordered gently lifting her chin with his knuckle. "Does he know?"

She sighed heavily and then shook her head. "He's been through enough already. I just…"

"Are a big chicken and don't want to rock the boat," he answered for her.

"Yes, thank you very much for that astute observation oh _expeller of all truth_," she ground out derisively. "You are just as guilty as I am of hiding things from your mother, _Mr. I didn't speak to my mother until eight months after I got out of Mayfield_."

House rolled his eyes. _Fine, she had him there_. "Whatever."

"Yeah, whatever."

He glanced away from her serious glare and checked the time. It was almost noon. "Why don't you help me stand up in the shower and then we can head over and get all the dirty gossip from Wilson."

Remy chuckled at him and hopped out of bed. "You just want to rub your naked penis on me in hopes I'll give you a pity fuck in the shower."

"Yup," he grinned.

"Maybe you'll get lucky," she replied saucily as she helped him get out of bed. "_If_ you can stand on your own."

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist pressing his swollen lips to her neck. "But it's so much more fun leaning on you."

"If we take a bath instead," she posed. "I might be able to make an exception."

"See know you're using your brains…"

* * *

_A/N: I know everyone is clamoring to find out what Cuddy's reaction to House quitting is...but...I'm not going to show her. I'm more interested in what Remy and House are going to do now. What will they do with this blank slate and how long will they be able to actually stay away before they get bored? I promise, you'll find out little things as they hear about them from their friends and I will leave it to your imagination just how frantic Cuddy might be without her best doctor and asset... and just what that all means for her personally. Once again, love you all for your great comments and enthusiasm about this story! You are the best!_


	32. Chapter 32

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 32

"I can't believe I even give a crap about this but…how is House?" Chase asked reluctantly, if not painfully, into the phone.

Remy smiled and flipped the page of her magazine. "He's great. For the past two weeks, he's been in his glory. He goes to bed around midnight, gets up around ten, eats his fruit loops in front of the TV and watches his soaps all day." She paused for a moment and looked around to see if he was lurking somewhere. When the coast was clear, she whispered, "He even does my laundry."

"Wow," Chase murmured. "I think the world may be ending."

Remy grinned. She was living like a queen. He cooked, he cleaned, he bedded her at least once an afternoon now that his ribs were healing. They'd seen all the new movies and even went to a matinee of the latest Broadway play in New York. It was strange but fun. What was there to complain about?

"_Tell him it's __Rhabdomyolysis_," House shouted obnoxiously from the living room.

Remy shook her head and laughed. "House says it's Rhabdomyolysis."

"God damn it!" Chase cursed. "He's not even fucking here and he knows what my patient has!"

Chuckling at his disgruntled and defeated attitude, she flipped another page and then peered closer at the wedding gown on the model. _Nah, too much going on at the bust and what was with those silly little flowers?_ "Taub texted him two hours ago."

Chase harrumphed disgustedly into the phone. "When are you two going to let Cuddy beg to give you your jobs back?"

"Ha, never," Remy muttered. "As fun as it was, we're not coming back even if that bitch grovels on her hands and knees like the whore that she is."

"Jeez Remy, I wouldn't go that far," Chase scoffed.

Remy rolled her eyes. "Okay, so I'm a little bitter. She is a bitch though. Yes, he asked me to marry him in front of god and everyone and yes, he had a fistfight with Foreman inside the hospital but she went too far. She's never been even remotely nice to me… And we all know just how quickly he's ready to forgive and forget…"

Chase sighed into the phone hesitating for a moment. "She cleared out his office two days after he quit," he told her. "She sent the boxes of his things over to Wilson's."

"I know," she said sadly. "We moved all of his stuff here last week. He holds the red and gray ball when he watches TV sometimes." She couldn't tell if it was because he was reminiscing or if it was just something to do with his hands. But the ball had found its place amongst her large travel photo books on the coffee table. His books and his amp had also found a place in her home. His personal belongings somehow looked like they had been there for ages. Their lives were intertwining as their clothes were in the drawers. It felt natural and comforting and it made Remy not regret a single thing that had happened.

"Do you think he wants to come back?"

Remy thought about it for a long moment before she answered him. "I don't know honestly. He seems content to just be with me. I don't know if that's good or bad or what." Nolan had been concerned at the start but he was letting it play our for a bit before he passed judgment, mostly because House was on an even keel and making a commitment to something that wasn't himself.

"Maybe that was the whole point," Chase surmised. "Maybe all that matters to him now is being with you, as strange as that sounds…"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm so not complaining," she chuckled. "It's just a little weird."

"I can imagine." There was a pause and she could hear him breath a sigh. "Foreman's coming back tomorrow," Chase segued carefully.

"Good. Then at least there will be three of you to bounce ideas off of," she said casually. She didn't blame Foreman for any of this either. She was angry that he took it out on House in such a violent way but in all reality, he was just reacting to months of being kept in the dark. She felt bad for him, it was really none of his business that she was with House, but it had to be emasculating to have the whole hospital find out about their engagement before he did. She wished she had had a chance to tell him privately so at least she could explain, maybe even lessen the blow.

There was another pause in the conversation and Remy felt like Chase was about to say good-bye and hang up when suddenly he continued talking. "So how goes the wedding plans?" The tone of his voice was searching; it was as if he'd actually missed her. She and the team had been his family since Cameron left and now that they were gone too, he must feel adrift again.

Glad that he was reaching out to continue their friendship, Remy folded the corner down on her magazine because she liked that particular gown. It was a strapless dress with a beautiful a-line hem. "Um, we haven't really done much. It's a little overwhelming when you sit down and think about it."

"There was this guy that Allison wanted to go to. He was recommended by a friend of hers," Chase suggested. "They said he was great and he took care of everything."

"How come you guys didn't use him?" Remy asked curiously.

"I don't really know," he said. "Maybe because we did it so quickly. Maybe because Allison was a psycho and had to control everything herself? Who knows now…"

"I don't know if House would go for that…"

"Remy, seriously. What does House know about planning a wedding? Bachelor parties, most definitely yes. But a wedding?" Chase contested. "You can't do it all on your own."

"What's his name?"

He gave her the name and the address and she promised she would talk it over with House and then give the guy a call. They wrapped up their conversation with a promise to meet some time later in the week for coffee. In the few short months they had worked together as a team, she had really grown to like Chase and missed him too.

Taking the magazine with her, with the phone number jotted down on the cover, she padded into the living. The TV was on, which was not unusual. He was lying on the couch holding a pillow like a teddy bear, which was also not unusual. What he was watching was downright blackmail worthy. Tiptoeing over to the back of the couch, she snuck up on him silently.

When she blew in his ear, he nearly catapulted off of the cushions in shock. "Holly shit!" he exclaimed catching his breath. "You scared the hell out of me. You're like a goddamned ninja. Put some heels on for Christ's sake and make some noise when you walk around here."

"I knew it," she said with triumph. "I caught you red handed."

He swallowed and rolled his eyes. "You saw nothing."

"Oh but I did," she taunted him.

"No, you saw nothing," he insisted and went to flick off the TV with the remote but she dodged forward and grabbed it from his hand. He looked at her like she had just done the unspeakable. "Give it back." His blue eyes menaced her like a laser from his semi-prone position on the couch.

"Nope," she teased and then scooted around away from his long arms as he tried to reach for the controller.

With perfect timing, the show came back from commercial with that familiar effervescent chime. "_Bah, bah, bahmp, Glee!_"

Remy laughed out loud. "You are sooooo watching _Glee_!"

He rolled his eyes at her again, this time with thinly veiled mortification. "So what?"

Remy plopped down on the couch with him and leaned over his lap. "It's a good show, there's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," he insisted. Even as he was sucked back into the show and couldn't take his eyes of the television screen, he muttered, "The gay kid's freaking adorable, ok."

"Aww, you are so adorable. And so gay." Remy pouted at him and traced his ear with her finger. Irritated, he swatted her hand away and continued to watch the show resolutely ignoring her teasing.

They watched for a few minutes and when the musical number was over, she spoke. "Speaking of gay. I have an idea. Well, it was really Chase's idea but…"

"Well then it must be gay," he muttered. "No one can be that pretty and not be gay."

Remy rolled her eyes. "Will you focus, please?"

He nodded at her begrudgingly and then centered his attention on her. "Fine. What is this so called idea?"

"He gave me the number of this guy who can help us plan the wedding," she said pointing to the written number on the magazine.

House made a face. "What, like a wedding planner?"

"I guess so, yeah."

He shook his head. "Nah uh, I'm not going to some fruity guy to plan this wedding. I want it simple, not a big frou-frou _La Cage aux Folles_ extravaganza."

"Which is exactly what we'll tell the guy," she explained calmly, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. Sometimes a lot of his older references were lost on her, but she never told him that. "Wedding planners are supposed to make the wedding that you want. They just know how to go about it better than we do."

"The only wedding planner I want is J-Lo," he insisted. "Get her and her luscious booty and you can have a wedding planner."

Remy rolled her eyes at him and then pulled her trump card and pouted beautifully. "You said that I can have whatever I wanted."

He went to speak and then snapped his mouth shut on a sigh. He rolled his eyes at her annoyed that she had just thrown his words back at him. She pushed out the pout further and added a bat of her eyelashes. Snorting, he rolled his eyes even harder. "What I really meant was that you could have whatever you wanted as long as it fits within the confines of whatever I wanted."

"Please, Babe," she cooed wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips. "I won't tell Wilson that you've been dvr-ing Glee…"

"So when do we meet this fruity wedding planner?"

* * *

_A/N: Ok so I must confess, i have been so into Glee lately that I just had to incorporate it here. House is into all of that teen angst kind of stuff and as I watched the Madonna episode i was like "Oh My God! Hose would so watch this!" So ta-dah... here it is. And for all of you born after 1990, good God, I'm getting old, La Cage aux Folles was a big Broadway musical in the 80's about a drag show in a night club...Think the Birdcage meets Gypsy, which are also two old references, so never mind. Anyway, the sets and costumes were outrageous. So yeah, just wait until you meet their wedding planner... see you next chapter!_


	33. Chapter 33

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 33

"You know this is a bad idea on so many levels right?" House limped reluctantly beside Remy as they traversed the sidewalk to a quaint little storefront. "I can't be trusted with something as joke worthy as this."

"Relax, it will be fine," she shushed him.

"Why are taking wedding advice from Chase again?" he persisted. "I mean look how his marriage turned out. If you ask me their whole shotgun wedding was jinxed from the start. She couldn't wait to run screaming from him."

Remy stabbed him with a look that said she was about to leave him standing on the sidewalk if he didn't shut up. "Humor me, would you please?"

He rolled his eyes as they came to a stop under a gold and teal painted sign advertising _J,J & J Weddings, Inc_. House took a breath, shook his head and opened the door, forging onward. He couldn't believe he had agreed to do this. _This was so going to be a mess of biblical proportions_.

They were instantly greeted by a young, thirty-ish man in horn-rimmed glasses in an impeccably tailored taupe colored suit, mauve shirt and matching violet tie.

"Oh darling me, you must be Drs. Hadley and House. I am J. Terrance Fleming entrepreneur and owner of _J,J & J weddings, Inc._ So, so incredibly _fabulous_ to meet you!" the man greeted them with wide-open arms pulling Remy into a hug as if he'd known her for years. When he made move for House, House held up his cane and tapped him in the center of his pretty purple silk tie.

"Dinner and a movie first, then you can grab ass," House warned.

The tiny man's mouth formed a big surprised O and he covered the pert opening with his dainty fingers. "Ohhhh, I like this one already. Scruffy and edgy. Bad boy in a wool sport coat and Levi's, such a conundrum. Be still my little heart," he sing-songed and laughed merrily as he turned toward a large white lacquered antique Queen Anne desk. "Follow me darlings, let's talk weddings." He snapped his fingers and motioned for them to follow.

Remy looked at House with amused uncertainty and he leaned in close to her ear. "When it comes time to say I told you so… just be prepared for it to be _oh so fabulously huge_."

"I kind of like him," she whispered.

"That's your inner rainbow pride talking," he muttered and placed his hand on the small of her back as they followed the short path to the two delicately scrolled chairs in front of the desk. She merely rolled her eyes at him and took her seat as he sat in the chair next to her. If it wasn't for the excited glint in her eyes, House would have been out of there in two point five seconds flat.

"So darlings, what brings you to J, J & J Weddings, Inc.?" Terrance asked melodiously.

"Well, we're getting married," Remy began.

"Oh I see, a little May/December romance thing going on," he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Very sexy."

House grumbled. "More like June/October."

"Touchy about his age, is he?" Terrance said in a loud aside to Remy.

Remy shook her head 'no' but qualified it with a little pinch of her fingers, indicating 'yes'. House squirmed a little in his seat. It wasn't really that big of a deal; he was only… _a touch_ older than her. _Two decades… but seriously, who was counting?_

"No matter, I did a January/December wedding a month ago, talk about a wrinkled old butt bouncing on a tight ass. Can you say pre-nup?" He laughed out loud for a long moment and then reclaimed himself breathlessly. "Ok honestly, what can I do for you? How can I make your dreams come true?"

"Well, you see Mr. Fleming," Remy began but the airy man cut her off.

"Oh beautiful, _beautiful_ girl, please call me J. Terrance," he insisted.

House looked around and only saw one desk, one set of filing cabinets, one bookshelf stocked to brim with decorating books. Curious, he posed a question, "Well obviously you're one of the J's who are the other two?"

J. Terrance flipped his imaginary long cocoa hair over his shoulder. "Me, myself and I, of course!"

House nearly busted his gut as he tried not to laugh. _Why was it that decorating, purple wearing gays lived in such a fantasy world?_ He pursed his lips tightly and nodded. "Interesting."

"Greg and I are here because we haven't the slightest clue how to go about planning a wedding," Remy said and looked at House for confirmation.

House shrugged helplessly affirming her statement. The truth was he could be married at the justice of the peace or a little chapel in Vegas in a powder blue tux for all he cared. He was here for her because she wanted the princess wedding. And he was sucker enough for her to do it.

"Well, you have come to the right place, darlings," the planner exclaimed excitedly.

"You come highly recommended," Remy told him.

"Really? By who?" he asked interestedly puffing up like a lovebird.

"They didn't actually use your services," House qualified. "In retrospect, probably should have."

J. Terrance looked at him curiously. "Mmmm, divorced already?"

"Mhm, " Remy nodded.

"Tsk, tsk, what happened? They couldn't sustain the magic? That _joie de vivre_?"

"No. He killed a man," House said flatly. Remy looked at him in shock and he bit his tongue forgetting for a second that she had no idea about how Chase killed Dibala, because he had never told her. J. Terrance echoed her shock on his prim little face and House doubled back with an exaggerated wink and point of the finger. "Just kidding…"

"Well, no worries here, if your wedding is planned by J. Terrance it is guaranteed to sustain the magic and no one will die on my watch," he boasted.

House bit his tongue again, because it really would have been in bad taste to mention that his future bride was in fact dying quicker than most. Instead, he just plastered on his best gay-worthy smile and let the happy little man carry on.

J. Terrance busied himself with locating a stack of papers and pink folder. "Okey dokey, first things first. Full names… exactly how they will appear on your wedding license."

"Gregory House."

The little man recorded the information with a brightly colored teal plumed pen. The feather bobbed as he scribed the information. House slid Remy a glance and she looked away from him with a disturbed sigh.

"Remy Beauregard Hadley," she relayed quietly.

"Seriously?" House snorted in disbelief.

She rolled her beautiful blue eyes at him and then looked at J. Terrance, completely avoiding House's astonished stare. "B-e-a-u-r-e-g-a-r-d."

"That's your _real_ middle name?" House chortled in laughter. "Seriously? I thought it just a joke for Foreman when you had it on your check… But seriously?"

"Did you ever read my file at any point before you hired me?" she glared at him.

"Yeah, you and forty-five other people," he defended himself. "I wasn't looking for middle names… What the hell kind of name is that anyway?"

"It was my grandfather's name." She looked at him pointedly daring him to make fun of her.

J. Terrance waved his plumage in the air. "Yoohoo…. Focus people. Address and all forms of contact information."

Remy gave him the necessary details and they moved quickly onto the actual wedding stuff.

"So what kind of little shindig are we talking here… Theme wedding? Destination wedding? Traditional?"

"Backyard kegger with a stripper pole?" House tossed out there.

J. Terrance laughed merrily and looked directly at Remy. "He's a hoot. Small quiet get-together a few family and friends." He placed his hands to his temples like the Amazing Kreskin.  
"I see outdoor wedding under canopy of white stephanotis and roses?"

"Oh my god Yes! That's exactly it," Remy exclaimed. She looked at House and then clasped his fingers in hers. House gave her a wane smile and tried to be as amazed and excited as she was. He didn't even know what _stephanotis_ was.

"So perfect, so tasteful," the planner agreed readily and jotted down some notes, his feathers bouncing joyfully along with his penmanship.

When he was done scribing his notes, J. Terrance placed his chin in his hand and stared at House dreamily. "Do you ever just get lost in those amazing blue eyes?"

Remy laughed. "Yeah, and then he opens his mouth. Believe me in a few days you'll get over it."

"I don't want foufy, poufy unnecessary crap," House tossed his two cents in, ignoring them both.

"See what I mean," she added and J. Terrance nodded sadly.

"Simple, elegant, nothing big," House continued.

"Oh with you there darling, it can't help be _big_," he announced and fanned himself as he went to type something fastidiously into his computer. House rolled his 'amazing' blue eyes when he actually felt himself blush under the pretty little man's perusal. Talk about being undressed by someone's eyes. If that saying were true, he'd be bare-assed naked in a velvet upholstered Queen Anne chair. And if that didn't scream Madonna video, he didn't know what did.

Remy leaned over his arm and smirked devilishly. "He has a point."

House rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Oh God," he muttered. Normally any discussion of his…assets… would have been a vulgar display of male pride but here it just seemed oh so very uncomfortable and just weird. _Bad idea of biblical proportions? Try catastrophic._

"What date are we thinking, the following June? The following September?" J. Terrance held up a dainty, manicured finger and smiled, "Oh now wait, the following _October_?" he amended with a wink at House.

Remy shifted in her seat and leaned forward a bit. "Um, we were actually thinking this June."

J. Terrance gawked at her. And then gawked some more. "Precious, that's just next month."

"Is that a problem?" Remy asked innocently.

J. Terrance's horrified look softened and then he smiled sympathetically. "Oh, I see. We need it _urgently_." He winked exaggeratedly at her. "Meeting a little nine month time line, are we?"

Confused, Remy looked at House who then scowled at J. Terrance. "She's not pregnant, you idiot."

"Well they why else would you need to get married right now?" he scoffed indignation. "This is Jersey for crying out loud, Gorgeous George. Every catering hall within a fifty-mile radius is booked solid for the next two years. Unless you got a bun in the oven there ain't no way you're finding a place on that short of notice. I'm a miracle worker, but puh-leeez, I can't make wine from water. I ain't Jesus."

"But we want it outside, not a catering hall," Remy sat forward, perching anxiously on the edge of her seat. "It's a very small wedding party."

"Sure if you want get hitched in a trailer park," he griped with another diva swing of his imaginary hair.

"There has to be a way," Remy pleaded shaking her head. She looked at House and the worry in her eyes, tore at him on a whole new level.

Sitting forward, House placed his hand on her knee to calm her down. "Surely there's got to be a way to work it out," he said patiently. Flattery would get them everywhere this guy, "I'm sure with your… _exceptional_ talents, you can figure something out." _It was only a wedding how bad could it really be to find a place?_

"Well," J. Terrance huffed an exasperated sigh, preening a little under House's intense glare. "I do know some people." He placed a manicured finger over his lips and thought for a moment, sober and severe in his contemplation. Suddenly, a bright sparkling disco ball appeared over his head and he opened his eyes widely in triumph. "Never you mind." He waved his hand in the air commanding the eternal wedding Powers That Be into submission. "I will make all your dreams come true. That is after all what _J, J & J Weddings, Inc._ motto is. I will perform a miracle. And then you, Hunky Hank, have to bat those gorgeous baby blue eyes at me and call me Patty Duke."

Both House and Remy gaped at him. "Patty Duke?"

J. Terrance rolled his large eyes at them in exasperation. "Patty Duke played Annie Sullivan. Hello? _The Miracle Worker_, deaf dumb and blind chick, what was her name?"

"Helen Keller," House said flatly.

The wedding planner snapped his fingers at him and rested his hand in vindication on his waist. "Yes! That's the one."

House looked at Remy who was now smiling like the happiest woman in the world. _Oh God, the things he would do for this woman._ This actually took the cake over pottery class. With a sudden feeling of dread, House ran his thumb over his eyebrow and hissed a little sigh. "How much is this thing going to run me, dear miracle working Patty?"

J. Terrance steepled his fingers primly on his white leather desk blotter and paused for dramatic silence. "Five thousand retainer. Five thousand at the back end on the Wedding Day."

House blinked. It was really all he could do. Since he was stunned into silence. He heard Remy gasp in shock and then felt her clench his fingers in a death grip as she saw her wedding dreams go swirling down the toilet before her eyes. So House did what only a foolish man who wanted to make his woman happy could do in that very moment…

"Perfect."


	34. Chapter 34

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 34

_A/N: Ok, let me just say that last night's episode was epic! I was so moved by the parallels and the mirroring of the patient's situation to his own life and the decisions he's made because of his leg. So brilliant. I think the introspection and the writing, not mention how fantastic Hugh is, was at it's finest. The scene where he admits all of his mistakes because of his leg was HUGE! I am even happy with the ending and we all know how much I am not a fan of Cuddy. But to me, it finally it made sense. It was so good to see him have a little light shine of him, and feel happiness for a change. My faith in this show has been restored and I am so looking forward to see how they move on from here... That said, I will forever ship my __little __Thirteen/House dingy... I just love them too much!_

_Enjoy!_

_A little disclaimer... I own none of the fabulous characters of House. I only steal their amazing wit and learn everyday how to develop such deep and moving characters of my own.  
_

* * *

There was a knock at the door and House looked over his shoulder at Remy who was busy gathering her purse and various essentials together. Stopping her ministrations, she made a face at him and then rolled her eyes.

"No, don't get up. I'll get it," she announced with a slight edge to her voice as she moved for the door.

"Oh would you? Thanks," he grinned at her and then chuckled turning his attention back to the piles he was sorting. Catering places, florists, photographers, and DJ companies… the amount of vendors was mind-boggling. J. Terrance had them busy like beavers looking at the plethora of possibilities to make this wedding happen.

House heard the door open and Wilson's voice as he entered. "Hello Remy, where are you off to all dressed up?"

"I have a doctor's appointment," she told him coming back down the entrance hall and into the dining room.

"Oh?" Wilson replied curiously as he followed her in.

House could hear her chuckle. "Don't worry, it's just the gyno and no, I'm not pregnant."

Remy picked up her purse and bent to kiss House on the head. "I'll see you later," she said with a wink and then turned to Wilson. "Don't let him get too involved in all this wedding stuff. He's been arranging and organizing for days. He needs a shower and some food."

Wilson nodded and then shook his head. "I can see that," he gestured in the general direction of the covered dining room table.

"Red Bull and lemon chiffon angel food cake are food, you know," House objected as he placed another photographer's portfolio on the pile for documentary style wedding photography. That must be a trend because that pile seemed to be a lot bigger than the traditional style wedding photography. _Interesting… definitely something to think about_.

Remy leaned in and gave Wilson a kiss on the cheek, "He's been living off of it for the past three days. Real food, real sunlight and no more wedding talk for six hours straight."

"Yes, ma'am," Wilson agreed and watched Remy leave the apartment. Turning his attention back to House, he pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and perused the scene in front of him. "Tell me why Remy is dressed and going out into the world today and you're sitting here at home, still in your pajamas and it's 2:30 in the afternoon?"

"She feels the need to make a difference, or something like that?" House proposed sarcastically and shrugged as he placed another magazine clipping into the flower pile. "Do you think that blue hydrangeas go well with cream and yellow roses?"

Wilson shook his head. "Nah, too deep of a blue if the yellow's not bold."

House grinned and then pointed at him. "Now there's the spirit. Come, sit. I've missed your kevetching and mother-henning."

"Well, you never call, you never write…" Wilson lamented like the good Jewish mother he was. It had been over three weeks since they'd last seen each other. Just having him here now, made House smile. For as much as he didn't miss the drama of the hospital, he did miss the daily banter he shared with his best friend. House supposed it was all part of the moving on process, but it felt weird to not see his friend day in and day out like he was used to.

Wilson rested his hand on the back of a chair and looked pointedly at him. "How about you take your future wife's advice and go shower because your _eau de Haus Frau_ isn't quite what it used to be."

"You just want to get me out of my pants," House replied with a wink. "You know I'm not that easy."

"Fine. We'll grab a late lunch, my treat," Wilson negotiated.

House rose from the table and grabbed his cane. He was hungry and Wilson was always good for a decent lunch and some company. "Charlie's bar and Grille, I'm in the mood for steak."

"Aren't you always when I'm paying?" Wilson muttered and situated himself onto the couch to wait for House to get cleaned up.

A short while later, they were seated at the restaurant and were waiting for their lunch orders to come. They caught up with each other over drinks.

"How are things with Nora?" House asked taking a sip of his iced tea.

"Very good," Wilson told him. "We're thinking about taking a vacation together. Maybe to Cape Cod or something."

"Martha's Vineyard is supposed to be nice," House mentioned. "I've never actually been."

Wilson regarded House for a long moment over the foam in his beer. "Are you ok?"

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm ok. Don't get all gooey and overprotective on me, we're two dude's having lunch over _your_ beer. I'm fine."

"I know," Wilson nodded, "That's what has me worried."

"What, that I'm fine?" House laughed. "For years you've been trying to get me to feel fine without drugs and other obsessive tendencies and now that I am, it's a problem?"

"No," Wilson doubled back, "It's just different. It's been three weeks and you haven't tried to manipulate, cajole or connive your way back."

"I know, weird huh?"

"Definitely weird," Wilson admitted. "Don't you miss it?"

"The hospital, no." House looked out the window. "For the first time in maybe forty years, I'm enjoying life. For real. I love being home, spending time with Rem, just doing simple everyday stuff. Nothing is nagging at me to solve it; nothing is pushing me to do crazy things. I feel… normal."

Wilson sat back in his chair and ran his hand over his jaw. "Wow. That's really great, House. I don't know what to say."

"How about you take it for what it is and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

"I'm not waiting for the other shoe to drop," Wilson scoffed, offended that he didn't believe his intentions.

"That was always the problem with you and Cuddy. You could never believe that I would be ok if you left me to my own devices." House sipped his iced tea and then a thought dawned on him. "Wait a minute," he jabbed a finger at his friend. "You're not here as a double agent are you? You're not here as Cuddy's negotiator to try and get me back, are you? Because that would be a really shitty thing…. Especially after I just emoted with you."

"No, no, no," Wilson held his hands up to stop his train of thought. "She didn't send me, she isn't trying to manipulate anything. I'm here because I wanted to see how you were. I miss my friend."

"Good because I'm never going back to work for that bitch again," House said a bit too harshly.

"She feels bad about what happened, you know," Wilson informed him carefully.

"She should."

"She's still not over it."

"No I'm sure she isn't. Her biggest cash cow has left the ranch. Now she's just a regular, plain vanilla teaching hospital. I'll bet she won't be over it for quite some time."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Wilson said.

House shrugged and shook his head. "She had her chance."

"She realizes that, it was just a shock to finally realize that you were indeed capable of a lasting relationship," Wilson told him.

"I wouldn't have been with her," House admitted shaking his head regretfully. "And deep down she knows that, too. That's why she stayed away from me and is with Lucas. We're like oil and water. No matter how hard we'd try to mix, I'd always float right back to the top and she'd be trying to bring me back down. Look at what happened. Her reaction was way out of line."

"Yes, it was," Wilson agreed. "After you left that day, I lit into her pretty good. I'm surprised she didn't fire me too for insubordination. What she did was selfish and childish, and driven purely out of jealousy. She knows that, she just doesn't know how to make amends."

"I don't want her to make amends," House said, "Not to me anyway."

Wilson nodded and frowned. "Remy took it hard, I know."

"She really does want to make a difference before she goes," House explained, knowing how much compassion and empathy Remy needed to put out to her patients. "She saw her work on the team as some sort of special calling, a way to make a true impact on people who were given a second chance at life. She worked hard for her patients because she knew they were going to out live her. Cuddy yanked that away from her, just like Foreman did before her. That's why she came back. It wasn't because of me. She loved that job just as much, if not more than I did."

"That job was a way of life for you," Wilson countered, disagreeing with him. "You couldn't live without the mystery of the incurable disease. You lived for the challenge."

"You're right," House agreed. "I did. Now it means nothing to me."

"I might actually believe you," Wilson scoffed.

Their steaks came and they ate without any further talk of Cuddy and the whole debacle that once was his safe haven. As they talked about what he and Remy had been doing for the past three weeks, Wilson relayed a funny story of a recent weekend outing with Nora. There was an accidental misunderstanding in an Atlantic City Casino where the staff mistakenly believed that Nora was one of the Kennedy's. Needless to say, the food and drinks and multiple special amenities poured over them like they were celebrities. They were treated like royalty, so who were they to not inform them that she was in no way shape or form related to the Kennedy's? House admitted that Nora did have t_hat look_, and that they should try it somewhere else to see if they could pull it off again.

Suddenly House's cell phone sang out…

_One singular sensation  
Every little step he takes.  
One thrilling combination  
Every move that he makes._

House withdrew his cell phone from its clip on his belt and gave Wilson an apologetic grimace. "It's the wedding planner."

Wilson made a curious frown and nodded for him to take the call.

"You have reached the Hunkalicious House Hotline, what can I do for you today?"

"Oh dahling, it's more like what can J. Terrance do for _you_ today," the sultry man voice came over the line.

"What _can_ you do for me today?" House prompted. "Don't tell me you found a strip club that hosts backyard weddings? I may just marry you instead."

"Oh honey, you couldn't handle this much man," J. Terrance boasted coyly. "No, Sexy Sam, I've got one better. I have two amazing friends that own a gorgeous farmhouse B&B just outside of Lambertville. They normally don't do this sort of event planning type of a thing but, because they just simply adore little old me, they're willing to do it for you."

"Excellent," House said and beamed a grin at Wilson. "So when can we see it?"

"Right now," J. Terrance announced.

"Right now is not a good time."

"Right now is the only time Cutie Buns, the proprietors are out of town for the next few days before the summer season starts and because the economy is in the crapper, they're exploring this as an option for them," J. Terrance informed him. "If you want to marry that goddess woman of yours within the next month, you'll get your sexy, crooked ass over here right away."

House rolled his eyes and agreed. J. Terrance gave him the address as he penned it on a napkin before shutting his phone. "Come on," he urged Wilson tossing three twenties down on the table.

"I thought I was buying," Wilson looked at him curiously sipping the rest of his beer and straightening his tie as he stood to go.

"We've gotta see a queen about a wedding."


	35. Chapter 35

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 35

Thirty minutes after lunch Wilson pulled his Volvo into the long, sweeping stone drive of the Corley Hill Farm Bed and Breakfast. House sat in the passenger seat taking in the sweeping view before his eyes. He had to give it to the little gay man. The pretty, preposterous little guy did have taste. This place was a large 19th century stone farmhouse set back from the quiet road on rolling hills of lush green property outlined with the familiar stone stacked walls remaining from Colonial New Jersey.

"I'm so going to be in trouble for this," Wilson murmured as he came to a stop in the circular drive near the front of the house. "I promised her no wedding talk for six hours. And here we are at an actual place."

"She'll get over it once she sees the house," House told him.

"Yeah probably," his friend nodded, his eyes widening in amazement. "This place is fantastic."

House exited the car and ambled over toward the front porch careful not to trip on the soft ground beneath his feet. There wasn't much resistance met by his cane so he felt a little like a toddler on his first couple of sojourns around the yard. They were greeted excitedly by J. Terrance as he practically came bouncing down the short steps to the gravel drive. Ever the fashionista, the decadent little man was dressed in a pale grey suit today with a sage green shirt and rust colored tie.

"Goody gumdrops, Fabulous Fred, you are finally here!" the wedding planner gushed in his dulcet tones as he drew near.

"I only spoke to you a half an hour ago," House grumbled. "It's not around the corner, you know."

J. Terrance waved a dismissive hand at him when, suddenly, the wedding planner's attention was caught by the approach of Wilson. His big brown eyes widened behind his horn-rimmed glasses with a leer and a Cheshire cat smirk appeared on his pert red lips. "Oh you darling man, you brought me a present?"

"No," House snorted. "He's a friend."

"Friend, friend? Or _friend, friend_…" He gave House an exaggerated wink and then burst into a series of bubbly giggles.

"Friend, friend," House replied and then paused, perplexed for a second, wondering if he picked the right inflection.

"Ooo, you sly devil," J. Terrance gushed placing a finger on the lapel of House's jacket. House rolled his eyes. Evidently he chose was the wrong one.

"Just friends," Wilson interjected, with an extra-manly clearing of his throat and stuck out his hand in greeting. "James Wilson."

"J. Terrance Fleming. So fabulous to meet you." J. Terrance accepted the handshake and almost melted when he made skin-to-skin contact with Wilson. "Are you sure it's not _friend, friend_? You have such soft hands."

"He used to be a woman," House deadpanned. "Can we get on with this?"

"Oh you're so snarky today!" J. Terrance shushed him with a huff and linked his arms though House's earning him a fierce glare. But the silly man was nonplussed. "Come, darlings. Let's meet Dotty and Eileen."

Trying unsuccessfully to shake off his little appendage, House found himself being guided to a stone walkway where J. Terrance led them around the side of the house. They came to a large brick patio that was flanked on two sides by the back of the main house and a wing that extend off of the side. The other two sides of the rectangular area were trimmed with neatly manicured hedges and lush colorful rose bushes. They had to walk under a trellis with creeping white roses to enter the patio. There indeed was her canopy of roses, House thought as the little man took him through the threshold. Looking around House was impressed. It was everything she had asked for. She would be so pleased when she saw this place.

As they entered the patio, House saw two women patiently waiting for them. One was in her twenties, trim, youthful in a vintage style floral dress. She had huge crystal blue eyes and long brown hair and an impish smile that made House wonder if she didn't just walk out of the forest from the mythical wee-folk. The other was an older woman, maybe early forties, lean and strong build with blonde highlighted wavy hair that framed her regal face. She was dressed in a pair of linen slacks and a sleeveless tank tunic with clusters of exotic beads hanging from her neck and wrists, much more earthy but nonetheless as beautiful as the first. Both looked like they had stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine instead of the guide to B&B's in New Jersey. There was a closeness and intimacy to the way they looked at each other and House assumed that they were a couple. Apparently the whole Gay and Lesbian Coalition was going to have a hand in planning this wedding.

The young one approached first with a bubbly personality that rivaled the little man still clinging to House's arm. "Hello, I'm Dotty and this Eileen. We own Corley Hill Farm Bed and Breakfast. We are so glad to meet you."

House went to shake her outstretched hand but the little man wouldn't relinquish his hold on his free arm. He tried to shake him off twice but then finally had to push the little clinger forcibly from off his elbow. House growled at him and J. Terrance merely stepped over an inch and brushed his imaginary bangs from his forehead, pretending to be miffed at the slight.

"Greg House," he said finally, shuffling away from his not so secret admirer.

"James Wilson," Wilson also extended his hand in greeting

"Hi, Eileen Gallagher, pleasure to meet you both," the older woman stepped forward. "We are so glad that you are considering having your civil union ceremony here at our farm."

"Oh no, no," Wilson chuckled. "You've got it wrong…"

House grinned, seizing an opportunity to make Wilson squirm. He turned a beaming smile at his friend, "Now, Jimmy, sweetheart, don't be shy. Obviously here in this lovely garden we can safely bask in the glow of our love."

Wilson scoffed for a moment and then regained his footing quickly, a skill honed over many years of putting up with House's antics. "Oh but Sweet Cheeks, I wouldn't marry you if you paid me. You're rude, inconsiderate and you leave the toilet seat up." He turned to the women. "He's a hot mess."

Dotty chuckled effervescently. "You must be the best man then?" she guessed.

"Yes," Wilson nodded. "His fiancé is running errands and couldn't make it."

"Oh dear me, won't Remy's heart just go pitter patter when she sees this place, Greg?" J Terrance's excitement almost bubbled over. "It has all of the trimmings she's been looking for, the garden for the ceremony, the trellis of roses, the nice country feel with a distinct air of simple elegance. And since they're friends of mine, you my Grumpy Gus will just love it because it's cheap, cheap, cheap."

"Now, we normally don't do wedding events," Eileen explained. "But, we've been considering exploring that option for ourselves. J. Terrance says that you have a small wedding party?"

"Maybe twenty people," House answered her, taking in his surroundings. It was true that his only friend was standing right here and that most of the guests would probably be Remy's. "Maybe twenty five at the most."

"That's a perfect size to get started with don't you think 'Leen?" Dotty said eagerly.

"Yes, that would be a good place to start," Eileen agreed. Clearly Eileen was the business end of their partnership with Dotty being the creative, dreamer type.

"Why don't we show you around?" Dotty suggested. "You can take a look at the grounds, and then we'll show you the suite where you and you're bride can spend your wedding night."

The group toured the area around the garden and took the path that led to a gazebo in a nice shaded area with trees and a small stream. Dotty turned to House with her wide clear eyes. "You could do pictures here or…Ooo, even better… have the ceremony inside! Oh, I think that would be just so beautiful!" House nodded and let her dream. "We could do flower garlands along the railings and have all of the guests in white chairs over here… with a guy playing guitar music over there…."

Her words struck a chord with House. He was suddenly struck with an idea that made perfect sense and made a mental note to discuss it with J. Terrance later.

She then took them through another path lined with some summer wild flowers that were just beginning to bloom. "Then you guys can do pictures here…" There were some white ducks waddling around quacking merrily as they passed. Chuckling, House leaned in and whispered to Wilson. "You'll have to be on house arrest, so they don't find you in the middle of town pantless with a stolen duck."

Wilson rolled his eyes and nodded ruefully. "True."

"Ah good times…" House mused with a laugh.

Dotty then directed them into the house through the French doors that led them into the addition off the back of the house that encompassed a huge ten-foot ceilinged room. There was a fireplace on the end and exposed wooden beams and slate tiling on the floor.

"This room used to be the carriage house," Eileen explained coming into the room from the rear. "You see these huge windows with the sliding doors, they were the entrances for the carriages."

"This is still the same 1800's construction," House observed as he ran his hand down the length of the door.

"If it rains, we could hold everything in here," J. Terrance told them. "We could do the ceremony in front of the fireplace and have a table set up for food and eating."

"What kind of catering are we talking about here?" Wilson interjected catching the fever.

"Well, we have a friend who caters our Christmas and New Years celebrations here," Dotty suggested. "She is phenomenal. She does this amazing roast pork with cranberry glaze. It's to die for."

"I will give you her number if you'd like to speak with her personally," Eileen told them. "J. Terrance said that you were looking to do this very soon. When were you thinking?"

House looked around and nodded appreciatively. He liked this place. Remy would love it. He didn't even have to see the rest of it. "Whenever you can fit us in."

"How is the last weekend in June?"

"Sold," House stated.

Later that evening, House showed Remy the tons of pictures Wilson had taken on his iPhone and subsequently emailed to them for her to see.

"This place is amazing!" she cooed as she stared intently at the laptop screen on her lap. They were in bed and winding down from the day. "I still can't believe J. Terrance pulled it off and found us a place so quickly."

"He knows what he's doing."

Remy gaped at him. "Was that respect I heard come out of your mouth?"

House shrugged. "Nah… you're delusional."

"I think he's growing on you," she teased and nudged him with her shoulder as she looked through the images for the third time. "This gazebo is the most perfect place. I cannot wait to get married in there."

House took the laptop from her and closed the lid. He placed the computer on the floor near the bed and grabbed Remy eliciting a squeal of surprise as he flattened her against the bed. "I cannot wait until the honeymoon when I strip you naked and have my way with you in the Jacuzzi tub upstairs."

She giggled against his neck as he dipped his head to kiss her bare shoulder. "You can strip me naked on any given day."

"But then you'll be my wife and only lawyers and lots of money will set you free from me," he murmured against her neck.

"Your wife…" she mused running her hands over his back. "That just sounds so perfect."

"It does," House agreed and planted a kiss on her lips. "So are you still mad at Wilson for letting me go?"

Remy smiled and ran her finger along the length of his jaw. "Nope, only because I know how much he wants to see you happy."

"I'm doing all of this for you, not me," he said.

"Mhmm," she smiled. "Of course you are."

"I am," he insisted, "I could care less."

"I know," she placated him.

"Seriously," he persisted.

"Yes, dear," she grinned and placed a kiss on his lips. "You want to get hitched in Vegas and have jell-o shots off a stripper's tits. I know. None of this is even remotely within your wheelhouse and you are doing it all for me. And I love you, seriously love, love, _love_ you for it."

Feeling vindicated, even though she was mocking him, he placed a lingering kiss on her lips. The image of her in her wedding dress under the gazebo came to mind and his heart swelled with pride. Yes, the things this woman made him feel were quite powerful and made him want things he never would have considered before.

"I love you," he said.

Her hand touched his face and he pressed his cheek into her palm. "I know."


	36. Chapter 36

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 36

_A/N: Happy Memorial day to all my fellow Yanks. This ironically comes in time for the beach holiday, happy little accident i must say. I must say, I'm am quite exited about passing 400 reviews! That is a first for me! So thanks to all of you who have dropped me a note to tell me how much you are loving this story. I am thoroughly humbled by all of your attention! _

_I must insert the usual disclaimer, I own nothing but my own imagination when it comes to these amazing characters. Happy reading!  
_

* * *

A few days after booking the place for their wedding, House woke up to a beam of light in his eyes and a soft tickling on his ear. He cracked his eyes open and adjusted his head out of the shaft of sunlight streaming in like a laser beam to find Remy peering at him like a little girl at a slumber party. He narrowed his eyes at her for waking him up with her errant little finger and her cool breath blowing sweet nothings into his ear. However, she was unfazed by his crankiness and merely grinned at him placing a kiss where she'd just been teasing him instead.

"Wakey, wakey," she cooed and nuzzled into him draping her long leg over his thighs.

Any irritation that had resulted from being so rudely awakened dissipated like fine mist when she touched him. The feel of her body pressed up against his warm one under the covers made him forget all about the fact that he was usually a grump when he woke up. Sighing, he looked at the digital clock on the nightstand and was shocked when he saw that it read 8:30 AM. He rolled a bit to see her more clearly and arched an eyebrow at her. "What's the occasion?"

"It's Wednesday," she said placing a kiss on cheek.

"Is it a special Wednesday?" he inquired because she had a coy smile like she was trying to make him guess why she had him up a full two hours before his normal time.

"Um, maybe," she toyed.

"Ok what gives?" he said wiping the sleep from his eyes.

With a brilliant grin, she moved her body on top of his and straddled his hips with both of her legs. Moving her hands slowly up the front of his t-shirt, her eyes twinkled. "I want to go play."

"Go play? We don't have to go anywhere to play," he said rolling his hips to press his morning wood against her panties. Having her on top of him like this was awakening all sorts of playful ideas. If she wanted to play, he was happy to oblige.

She clucked her tongue at him and tapped his chest. "I want to go out and play, like to the beach."

House laughed. _Was she out of her mind?_ "The beach? Seriously? How do you expect me to walk on the beach? The cane thing on the moving sand, not necessarily two things that are compatible with each other."

"You can walk short distances without your cane," she contended. "And the beach is only a little over an hour away. We can make a day of it."

House made a face hoping to let her know he wasn't all that interested in a day at the beach. There was sand everywhere, in places you never wanted it, and you had to bring stuff… it was too much effort. His brow creased as he began to think more fully into the hassle.

"Come on, it'd be really sexy," she pleaded. "We could take your bike and ride like the wind. It supposed to be beautiful out today. We shouldn't waste it being inside."

He frowned and then sighed. "I haven't been to the beach since before the infarction."

"All the more reason to go," she added optimistically as she was running her hands distractingly over his chest.

"You keep doing that and we're going to have to leave much later than you want to," he told her with an arch of the eyebrow.

She grinned at him and leaned forward to remove her panties. Slipping them off and twirling the pink lace around her finger, she tossed them over by the hamper with a sly little quirk of her lips. "Why do you think I woke you up at 8:30?"

* * *

A couple of hours later, House pulled his motorcycle into one of the small spots near the entrance to the boardwalk. It was indeed a gorgeous day in late May. The sun was out, the air was hot. It was most definitely a day for the beach.

It really had been a millennium since House had gone to the beach, not since he first started dating Stacey. And that had to be about fifteen years ago at this point. Remy was right. He figured what the hell, he was living life now. The beach seemed like a fun way to spend the day. That was supposed to be the whole idea of staying away from the hospital in the first place. They could go and do _whatever_ they wanted, _whenever_ they wanted.

So here they were, Point Pleasant beach. It was the week before Memorial Day and the summer crowds had yet to invade the quiet little beach town, which suited House just fine. He wasn't a fan of large crowds to begin with and a gimpy man on a moving surface underfoot didn't exactly make for close bedfellows. But nevertheless, he was wiling to try it... for her. More and more, it seemed he would do anything for this gorgeous minx behind him on the bike with her long, sexy legs wrapped around him. Sometimes all she had to do was look at him and he was a goner. When she blackmailed him with sex, she could get him to commit felonies and/or crimes against humanity if she so deemed. After some fabulous morning sex and a good long shower, she had chosen to wear some ridiculously long sundress over her bathing suit and had to hike up her skirt to tuck it between her legs at they rode. Normally, he would have made her go put some jeans on, but she was hot as hell in that hippie tie-dyed concoction and he was hard pressed to contest the issue. It was only about an hour's ride along some pretty easy back roads until they hit the shore area. Not much was going to happen, so he let her wear whatever she wanted. Never mind that he could reach his hand back and touch her skin whenever he wanted. That was a bonus.

After killing the engine, Remy swung her leg over the back of the bike and took her helmet off letting her long hair fall into loose tendrils in the sea breeze. Yep, she was drop dead gorgeous and he was head over heals in love with her. And if that quirky little wedding planner could pull it off, she was going to be his wife in just about a month. It was amazing what a little sprig of mistletoe could lead to.

She smiled brightly at him as she took off the backpack from her shoulders and removed her denim jacket stuffing it inside along with their beach gear. House dismounted the bike and removed his own helmet. He watched her as she held her face up to the sun. Her eyes closed and she sighed contentedly absorbing the warmth. "God this sun feels amazing! See, I told you this was a good idea."

"No body likes a gloater," House sniped gently as he fastened their helmets to the back of the bike for storage.

"You just don't like to admit when I'm right," she contested and wrapped her arms around his waist as he came to stop in front of her once he was done.

"Well you and I can't always both be right," House told her confidently. "So when it comes to being right, it will always default to me."

She laughed at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Ok, I'll let you keep thinking that."

"I don't have to _think it_," he called to her as she stepped out of his embrace and made her way over to the wooden ramp of the boardwalk. "I _know it_."

Tossing him a saucy look over her bare shoulder, she smirked at him and gave him a wink. "Let's go. Prime sun hours are ticking away…"

Shaking his head, House touched his hand to his thigh and made his way slowly up the ramp to the boardwalk level. Remy waited patiently for him looking casually up and down the boardwalk. Smiling, she reached out and grabbed his hand as he met her. They walked slowly over to the changing station where House could change out of his jeans into his bathing suit and sandals, which they had to make a stop for at his condo on their way. For the amount of time it took for them to find his swim stuff, it would have just been easier to go to the mall and buy him some new things. But nevertheless, they were here now, and he remembered why he hated swim shorts to begin with. The frank and beans just hung in a little net flapping against his inner thigh like wind chimes. It felt so disconcerting. Add that to his trepidation about being able to traverse the powdery sand and his insides were tied up in wretched knot.

The next hurdle was climbing down the steps that led to the beach. Thankfully there were only a few steps in this area and they weren't that steep so it didn't take him long. Once on the sand, he found the soft tiny ripples of undulating sand to be as daunting as the huge dunes hiding underneath the wooden slats of the boardwalk. He was unsure of his footing and that sense of weakness he had first felt right after the infarction came back in full force. Sensing his unease, Remy slid her arm around his waist and smiled gently as she began to slowly guide them over to a clear spot in the middle of the beach. It took them a while to get there and he was pooped and a little sore, but he had made it. He swallowed a few ibuprofen and looked around. There were a few families with some very young children and some college kids on the beach but that was about it. It was the perfect lack of human contact for House and he was grateful.

Taking out the blanket, Remy fluffed it in the air and smoothed it down on the hot soft sand. House watched her for a moment and frowned inwardly feeling a little humbled by the fact that she had to help him walk across the sand and she hadn't said a word about it. "Thank you," he said.

She looked up at him with big eyes. "For what?"

"For…" he shrugged and then shook his head. "For not making a big deal…"

She stepped over the corner of the blanket and hugged him to her tightly. "Babe," was all she said as she looked up into his face, her smile and her eyes reassuring him that she never once considered him to be less than he was because of his leg.

In the next breath, she stepped back and like a sun goddess, whipped off her dress in one long stroke and dropped it onto the blanket next to the bag. House's mouth dropped open and his heart sped up a bit. Despite having seen and touched her repeatedly in nothing at all, she looked even sexier than he could have imagined in her white string bikini. The small triangles clung to her breasts like a lover's touch and the thin strings begged him to tug… just a bit, to let it all come sliding off. Instead, he placed his hands on his hips and gave her a leering once over like he was supposed to do.

"Nice," he said appreciatively.

She raised her eyebrows at him and gave him a saucy smirk. "I thought so."

She turned then and placed her hand over her eyes to shield her vision from the sun to look around. Spotting what she wanted, she grabbed her wallet from the bag. "I'm going to go rent one of those umbrellas from over there. You and me are copy paper white and we'll incinerate in twenty minutes if we don't have some shade."

House nodded in agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

The sun was indeed getting hot as it began to crest at its highest point in the day and he was starting to sweat. He dropped down onto the blanket and took off his sandals and t-shirt as he watched her trot over to the boy manning the umbrella stand. He was once again taken by her beauty. God she was a vision. And he was one lucky son of a bitch.

Meanwhile, his phone sang out to him.

_One singular sensation  
Every little step he takes.  
One thrilling combination  
Every move that he makes._

"Studs-R-Us, how can I help you today?" he answered knowing full well J. Terrance immensely enjoyed his teasing.

"I'd like one tall, salt and pepper stud with blue eyes and a really long…ahem, walking stick," the man cooed at him from across the phone.

"Ah sorry, just sold that one to a sexy beach vixen who likes to swing both ways," House told him as he took in the view before him. The sky was a clear blue, the water a deep navy and the sand a dusty beige. The Jersey shore never actually looked so good. Yup, he was glad she had talked him into coming. This was going to be a nice day.

"Well then I guess I may just have to take that chocolate-eyed cappuccino confection of yours, I just want to eat him up he's so adorable!"

"Yup that he is," House murmured. "So what'd you call me for because it wasn't to discuss how much you want to eat Wilson?"

"Yes, unfortunately, it wasn't to discuss that," J. Terrance lamented. "No, indeed. But it do have some good news, if you're interested… but of course we could spend all day…"

"What is it?" House cut him off impatiently.

"What is what?"

"The news," House growled in exasperation. "What is the news?"

"Oh," he trilled merrily. "That… I found that guy you were looking for."

House's ears perked up. "You did?"

"He's a seedy little bugger, that one," J. Terrance sneered.

House nodded. "Yeah."

"He's a little rude, kind of like you, but grossly not endowed with the cuteness gene. I _so_ almost walked out of there," J. Terrance relayed haughtily.

"But you didn't, right?"

"No, I didn't," he sighed. "I have the address and phone number."

"Good, email them to me and I'll check it out when I get back," House told him.

"Get back? Where are you?" J. Terrance demanded.

"We're at the beach," House told him and found himself rolling his eyes while he spoke as if the silly little man needed to know their every move.

To House's surprise though, J. Terrance gasped in horror. "Do not, _under any circumstance_, let her get sunburned!"

"Yes, I know that," House grumbled. _He was a doctor after all_.

"She needs to be flawlessly even in skin tone. We have not picked out the dress yet and I don't want to see trashy, garish tan lines. Oh dear God, that screams Jersey Shore like a pair of neon pink sweatpants with 'princess' stamped across the booty!"

"Don't worry," House assured him, "She will not get burnt. Me on the other hand that's a different story."

"No! You too, I cannot have you dry up like a spinster's vagina," he exclaimed. "You're wrinkled enough already, Mr. October."

House caught himself laughing and then shook his head. Despite the wedding planner's amusing little diatribe, House was done with the conversation. He was on mini-vacation. "O- n-o. Y-r br-k-g…p," he barked. "Gotta go!" He slammed his phone shut just in time for Remy to return with the umbrella.

"Who was that?" she asked breathlessly as she leaned the heavy, awkward parcel against her leg.

"Oh, that was J. Terrance," he said. "He says that you absolutely cannot have any bimbo tan lines, so you should just go naked."

She clucked her tongue at him and rolled her eyes. "That's why I got the umbrella. Help me," she gestured for him to get up and assist her in putting it into the sand to stand upright. Once that chore was done, she sat down next to him and brushed the sand off her feet. Digging through their bag, she took out the sunscreen tube handing it to him. "Would you do the honors?"

She tucked her hair over one shoulder and then turned her back to him. Squeezing some of the white cream onto his hand, he began to rub it into her shoulders, then her arms and down her back. Her skin felt smooth and warm under his palms and the scent of coconuts tantalized his senses. Once he finished with her back, he pulled her to him and whispered in her ear. "Toasted coconut makes me want to lick you up like a creamy dessert."

Her hand clenched against his leg and she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes a deep shade of slate. "If you're a good boy and eat all your dinner…"

"We may have to get a room," he said. "I might not make it home."

"We could do that," she smiled and took the tube, moving behind his back to return the favor. Her hands felt phenomenal against the tight muscles in his back and he began to relax into her touch. Soon they were finished greasing each other up and it was time to lie down and bake in the sun for while.

House fell asleep quickly in the heat and drifted off into a peaceful slumber. He woke when he felt Remy nudge him with her foot, telling him to turn over. She was leaning on her elbows as she lay on her stomach reading a book. Both strings to her bikini were untied. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun and her sunglasses reflected the bright sunlight. She looked like a movie star on the beach and House had to laugh. Touching his hand to the small of her back, he leaned over and kissed her shoulder. "You should roll over, your shoulders are getting red."

"Tie me?" she asked, placing her book down.

House tied the back while she held the front to her so she could roll onto her back. He watched her in amusement as she tucked her strings away under her armpits. He chuckled and traced his finger along the edge. "See, I told you you should have gone naked."

"Take me to Brazil and I will," she teased and trailed her fingers down his arm.

The sun was getting hot, and he needed a dip in the ocean to cool off. "I'm going to try the water," he told her.

"Do you need me to go with you?" she asked sweetly.

He shook his head. "No, once I get to the wet sand, it'll be fine. You keep reading. I'll be back later."

Carefully, without his cane, because it was virtually useless in the sand, House made his way to the shoreline. It was a little rough going without her to help balance him but he survived and was indeed fine once he got to the hard packed sand from the waves. The water was a little cool against his feet and it took a bit to adjust but once he felt confident he wasn't going to freeze his balls off, he dove in. The waves were gentle, slowly breaking over the shoreline as he swam out to where he could float if he wanted and touch his feet down if he needed. It was quiet. Peaceful. And it felt like he hadn't swam since he was a kid.

As he floated, unencumbered by gravity and aided by the buoyancy of the salt water, his mind drifted to a time when he remembered playing in the ocean during the year his dad was stationed in Hawaii. He was young and didn't remember much but he did recall that the waves were enormous. His mother worried because of the surfers coming in along the beach, but House remembered being amazed by the aerial tricks they were able to perform. It was as if they could defy gravity like the Silver Surfer comics he used to read.

Now that he thought about it, there had been quite a few times they had gone to the beach throughout his childhood. They went in California, Okinawa, Virginia and Pensacola, Florida. Thinking back, he recalled how much his mother used to love the beach. It was funny how he hadn't remembered that until now. Sometimes his dad would even go with them. Those were some of the few times the two actually had fun together. When he was really little, his dad would put him on his shoulders and carry him into the water because as a five year old, he was afraid of the vast ocean that lay beyond. House could remember the smell of his father's hair and the way his large, strong hands would grasp onto his legs, letting him know he wasn't going to fall. It had been a really long time since he felt that kind of respect for his father. It didn't wash away the hatred he still held, but it gave him some more insight to the fact that it wasn't all bad.

House floated for quite a while, alone and completely relaxed in the water. He looked up in time to see Remy splash out to him. She was shivering by the time she surfaced in front of him and he pulled her close to his body to warm her. Her wet hair slicked back along the shape of her head and her eyes were bright from the chill. She looked positively gorgeous.

"Oh my God! How have you been in here this long?" she exclaimed as she clutched onto his shoulders, lifting herself out of the tepid water. "It's freezing."

"Its not that bad once you get used to it," he chuckled.

"Oh, it is bad," she complained.

Taking advantage of the buoyancy of the water, he lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He would never be able to do such a thing outside of the water and it felt fantastic to be able to hold her like that. Smiling, she draped her arms around the back of his neck and leaned her foreheads against his.

House pressed his lips to hers. She tasted of salt water mixed with her cherry lip balm and it made him smile. "I think we should find a place to stay tonight. We can get cleaned up, have dinner on the boardwalk and then come back to the beach for a couple of hours in the morning."

Her lips cracked into a deep smile. "That sounds like a amazing idea."

Yes, this was one of the best ideas they had had in a long time…


	37. Chapter 37

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 37

_A/N: Bonus posting for you guys to wrap up this fine weekend. I knew I wanted to continue their little pre-honeymoon but couldn't figure out just what to do with it so it wasn't just fluff and then well, it came gleaming out of nowhere. You'll see... its timely and relevant. And serendipitously makes the next chapter that I wrote a few days ago make way more sense! Enjoy!_

* * *

After showering the sand and sunscreen from her body, Remy felt refreshed. She stepped out of the stall and pulled the complementary, thick terrycloth robe around her shoulders. Sighing, she nestled into its softness. This place they had found was absolutely exquisite. They were in the turret room of an old Queen Anne Victorian Bed and Breakfast just few blocks from the beach. Remy couldn't have asked for a more beautiful place on such short notice. She felt a little like she and Greg had run away to Never, Never Land and they were camped out in a luxurious castle hideaway. It was fun and romantic and something so completely out of either one of their wheelhouses that she didn't know quite what to make of it.

Running a brush through her damp hair a few times, she placed it on the counter and left the bathroom. Greg was lying on the bed in his own complementary robe, his hair still wet from the shower. Remy smiled. He looked adorably decadent amongst the pillows and 500 count sheets. Grinning as he saw her, he clicked off the TV with the remote and patted the thick down comforter beside his hip beckoning for her to join him. Eagerly, she climbed onto the high comfortable bed and crawled over to him, stretching out before lying down next to him. Shifting a little to face her, he placed his hand on her hip and smiled down into her eyes. With a little nudge of his nose, his lips brushed hers and she felt that familiar tingle go through her down to her belly and into her toes. She loved kissing him. Loved touching him. He just excited her beyond compare.

Lying back against the pillows, she let her eyes just linger on his face, taking in every laugh line and crease. Each little valley was a testament to how he had lived. So much pain, so many experiences. But right now, so much joy. He was rough and soft, manly and boyish, all at the same time. The combination was so handsome that he made her heart melt when she looked at him. The deep tinge the sun had given to his skin made his eyes even bluer than normal. Their lure made her smile as she allowed herself to become lost in their sapphire depths. Remy sighed contentedly. _God, how she loved this man._

Bringing her hand up to stoke his forehead gently, she chuckled. "J. Terrance is going to be upset," she said. "You got quite a bit of sun today."

He crinkled his eyes and scrunched up his brow a few times before shrugging dismissively. "Ah whatever. It feels a little tight but it will go away." His hand came up to push open the neck of her robe as he dipped his head to place a trail of kisses below her collarbone. "You, on the other hand, did very well with the doctor's orders. Not one streak of pink anywhere."

"Mmmm, do you think that had anything to do with you constantly rubbing sunscreen all over me?" she giggled.

"Gratuitous touching," he told her. "I could grope you openly in public all under the guise of healthy skincare."

"Ah yes, that is a good cover," she laughed and trailed her hand down his arm as his fingers roamed along the contours of her waist. He had _that look_ in his eye and she was completely willing to surrender to whatever he had in mind.

Lacing his fingers in hers, he brought his lips down to her mouth and kissed her again. His tongue teased at the opening this time, tracing the edge of her lips before gently going in to taste her. She melted into him like ice cream in the hot sun as his tongue danced with hers stirring the beginning embers of heat deep within her. Letting out a breathless moan, her hands cupped the sides of his head and roamed down his face and into his robe to knead at the taught skin over his shoulders as he continued to kiss her with abandon. She was caught up in the scent of clean soap on his skin and the radiant heat coming from his chest as his body pressed into hers. She loved the weight of his body on hers. There was something so primal about it, completely possessive and erotic. She was happily at his mercy. His kisses were always so magical that she could just simply spend the rest of her days joined to him at the mouth. She needed no sustenance, no oxygen, only him.

Unfortunately, her own body had alternate designs as her stomach growled loudly in between their intertwining bodies. He halted suddenly in his pursuit, looked at her and lifted a curious eyebrow, an amused smirk hovering over his kiss-swollen, moist lips.

"Hungry much?"

Remy smiled sheepishly, feeling a bit breathless and dizzy. "Sorry."

"That wasn't exactly the kind of hunger I was going for," he jibed with a comical frown.

"Umm, me either," she chuckled and looked at the clock over his shoulder. It was past seven. "I guess we lost track of time."

Sighing, he dotted a kiss on her nose and ran his hand lovingly over her cheek. "Let's go get something to eat. I'm hungry too. And we can come back and pick this up later," he suggested.

Remy pouted a bit and then twisted her lips into a frown. "Food has won out over sex? What has happened to us?"

"I'm old and you're…" he paused to think for a moment and then shook his head. "I have no idea, I completely lost my train of thought."

She laughed and gave him a peck on the lips. "Aww, you have sun brain."

He blinked his eyes exaggeratedly and shook his head to clear his mental fog. Remy's stomach protested again reminding them it was definitely dinnertime. "Ok," she sat up and patted his butt to get him moving. "Sausage and peppers and fresh squeezed lemon aide."

At the mention of the classic boardwalk fare, he moaned out loud and let his eyes roll back in his head. "And funnel cake."

She bit her lip between her teeth and held out her hand to help him as she stood up. "And saltwater taffy from Jenkinson's."

"Oh stop talking dirty," he groaned as she pulled him to his feet.

Remy giggled and let out a squeal of delight when he tugged her close to him and buried his face in her neck. "Handmade fudge…"

He nibbled a line down her throat. "Cotton candy."

"Mhm…" she moaned and then pushed him away from her lest they forget totally about eating again and wind up in a sweaty heap on the floor. He groaned a protest but stepped three steps backwards nonetheless, his own hunger for real food winning out.

She slipped out of her robe while he did the same, throwing on his jeans and t-shirt from earlier. Remy grabbed her sundress, slid it over her head and stepped into her flip-flops tying her hair back into a messy bun. Checking her face in the mirror over the dresser, she applied a bit of Chapstick and turned to him, ready to go.

Grabbing his cane, he stopped for a moment and looked at her oddly.

"What?"

"Seriously?"

"What?" she demanded again.

He huffed a disbelieving laugh and gestured toward her outfit with his hand. "You're seriously going out in that dress, commando?"

Remy started to laugh. "Well, yeah. No one will know."

He snorted. "I'll know."

Remy rolled her eyes and grabbed the room key from the surface of the table. "I wore my bathing suit under the dress when we rode out here. I've got no panties."

Planting his cane firmly on the floor, he circled his arm around her waist as he pulled her against to his hips. His hand snaked down over her ass to fully grab her butt cheek in his palm. "That's really hot," he growled at her. "Almost too hot to concentrate."

Remy frowned in exaggerated sympathy at him as she removed his hand from her backside. "You'll get over it."

He bugged his eyes out and took a deep breath, clearing his mental vision once again. "Dinner, dinner, dinner, " he recited as if to remind himself that was their mission. And with that, they were out the door.

They parked the motorcycle in one of the handicapped spots by Jenkinson's Pier and meandered their way through the various kiosks that sold food. They ate like starving children and Remy was glad she had her huge dress on to cover up her bloated, extremely full belly. She didn't think she'd need to eat again for another week after that meal.

The sun was setting and the air was beginning to cool to a soft warm breeze. She hadn't worn her jacket but she was comfortable as the air touched her skin. Holding onto his free hand, she rested her head contentedly against his arm as they walked down toward the games. Loud music poured out from the various carnival type games of chance and skill. Lights blinked, beckoning passers-by to try their hand.

Greg was drawn to them like a moth to flame.

Dragging her by the hand, he led them over to one of the windows. He tried the big wheel, roulette type first placing his dollar on "wife", with a little wink at her. After about five tries, sure enough, he won. Remy cheered in delight and picked out a little black monkey with a brown face.

"Lady luck," he said gallantly as he handed over her prize.

"My hero," she teased and kissed the top of the monkey's head.

"Anything for my girl," he said grinning at her. She pressed the monkey's face to the side of his cheek in a little kiss. He shook his head at her and brushed the toy away from his face as if it embarrassed him. But his lips curled into a smirk and she knew he was enjoying himself.

They moved on to the balloon darts where he won her another three small toys. She was able to trade them all in for one bigger monkey just like her first one.

"Ah, ring toss," he said excitedly as they hit the booth with the bottles lined up in a grid.

Remy tugged his arm trying to get him to move in the other direction. "No more toys," she laughed.

"Oh come on," he begged. "I can get you one of those big monkeys. It's all in the flick of the wrist." His hand moved to demonstrate and she had to laugh. His excitement was infectious

"Ok, just a few, and then we're done," she compromised. "You must be a thrill and a half in Atlantic City."

"We could go if you want?" His eyes lit up and he peered at her eagerly. "Its only an hour and a half down route 9."

"No." Remy laughed. "We're not going to Atlantic City tonight."

"Fine," he whined at her practicality and then slapped a twenty down on the counter. The girl handed him a bunch of rings and stuffed the twenty into her apron, stepping aside for him to shoot.

The first few bounced off until he hit his form. One after another, the red plastic rings circled the neck of the bottle and she soon found herself picking out a plush pink dolphin.

Finally, she had to drag him away from the game area. "If you keep this up I'll have a whole toy store to figure out how to get home on the back of your motorcycle."

He laughed and the nodded his head. "Yeah, you're right. It's just been such a long time…"

Reaching up on her tiptoes, she kissed him. "I'm glad you're having so much fun."

Suddenly, his eyebrows drew together in concern. "You're not having fun?"

"No, no, I am having a blast," she assured him.

His smile returned and he hugged her to him tightly. He kissed the top of her head and sighed happily.

Remy held onto him and just listened to the steady beat of his heart under his t-shirt. He was so relaxed and joyful, just like a boy. The last time he'd been this free was the Monster Truck Rally they had gone to in the winter on one of their dates. She liked it. It was nice. This was, after all, her goal for the whole day, to see him forget about everything and just be. She'd say her plan turned out to be a raging success.

Their embrace ended and she linked her arm through his once more as she held onto her prizes under her other arm. They began to walk on but out of nowhere a small child came running past them like a whirlwind. The little girl tripped and took a dive right into the slats of the boardwalk. She landed face first onto the wood and immediately began to cry.

"What the hell…" Greg exclaimed.

"Oh my god…" Remy gasped in surprise. Her heart sank as the child wailed in pain. The poor thing probably split her chin wide open. On complete instinct, Remy rushed over to the girl dropping her parcels beside her as she touched the girl to see if she was all right.

A few moments later, the hysterical mother hurried over with the stroller.

"Jessica sweetheart!" the mother cried.

Remy picked the girl up and ran her hands over to feel for anything broken. The little mop head had to be all of two. Remy brushed the child's curls from her face and swept the gravel from her skinned palms.

Reaching out for the child's arm, the woman hollered. "Why did you run away from mommy?"

Remy cringed and did her best to not let her anger show. House on the other hand…

"What? You just let your kid run wild all over the place," he demanded.

"No, she got out of the stroller and ran away from me," the mother explained indignantly.

"Well you should keep a better eye on your damn kid," he ranted at the woman in that tone he hadn't used since they had left the hospital.

Remy looked at him. "Greg…"

Thumping his cane against the wooden ground, he rolled his eyes at her and turned away from the scene in frustration. Remy closed her eyes, ignoring him for the more important scene at hand. She looked at the girls face. The child had blood coming from her mouth.

"Open your mouth sweetie, let me see your tongue."

The girl heaved in a shuddering breath of air and pouted her mouth closed, afraid to do as asked.

"I promise, it won't hurt," Remy said giving her a bright smile to encourage her. "I swear."

Slowly, as if not sure whether to believe her, she opened her mouth little by little.

"Stick out your tongue for me, like this," Remy demonstrated making a silly face for her as she did. Jessica giggled despite being upset form having fallen and stuck her tongue out at Remy. There was a fair amount of blood and it was dark out so Remy turned her toward the lights of one of the kiosks.

"She bit her tongue when she went down," she stated and looked at the mother. "It not bad enough for stitches."

The mother stared back at her in confusion. "Thanks, I guess."

"She's a doctor, she knows what she's talking about," House chimed in caustically again. His toned evidently put her in her place because she turned to Remy.

"Oh," the mother looked relieved. "Thank you. I'm so sorry about this."

Ignoring the mother, Remy looked at Jessica's hands and her knees. "Nothing's broken. Just some superficial scrapes that will need to be cleaned and disinfected. The tongue will heal on its own."

"Jessica, honey, you need to not run away from Mommy," the mother said to the girl as she picked her up and placed her back into the stroller.

Remy looked at the child and saw that she was beginning to cry again. A flash of memory surfaced and Remy had to shake of the familiar hatred she knew all too well. Feeling like she needed to do something, she bent down again near the little girl's level and tickled her a little on the belly. "You're gonna be ok."

The girl nodded at her with big tears in her eyes and Remy's heart melted.

"You know how I know that?"

The child shook her head making her blonde curls bounce over her forehead.

"I know because this pink dolphin here is going to make you all better," she told her placing the toy into the girl's lap.

Avoiding the condescending stare House was giving the mother, the woman looked at Remy with embarrassed and chagrinned eyes. "Thank you so much for all you help. I really am so sorry about this."

"It's no big deal," Remy said simply. "Happy to help."

The woman pushed the stroller away and Remy watched them go. Something stirred inside her. She felt sorry for the mother and the girl and wondered why people didn't have to take some kind of test to become parents. Sure it was an accident, but she would bet all of her money that the woman wasn't paying any attention to the fact that the child had gotten out of the carriage. And then to top it off, she felt the need to be harsh with her daughter after she fell down and had gotten hurt as if it were the child's fault, not the adult's. It was so very reminiscent of many painful scenes Remy had with her own mother. She shook her head and pushed those memories down. There was no point in remembering those times. They were in the past. Noting could be done about them now.

Picking up her monkey, Remy stood. When she turned around, House was looking at her. He had that _other_ look she was vastly familiar with. Like he had just discovered something and was now going to question her about it. Relentlessly.

"You okay?" he asked.

Shaking it off, she put a smile on her face. "I'm fine. I'm not the one who fell down."

"No," he drew out.

"But?" she sighed.

"But… that dynamic," he continued on as if she were a child. "The mother practically blaming the kid for her own stupidity, blaming her for something that wasn't her fault."

_God, he was too damn perceptive._ "The mother was an idiot and not paying attention. I helped a little girl who fell down. I'm fine. Really."

He came up to her and leaned on his cane. His free hand came up to rest on her on her shoulder as he nailed her in that tractor beam of his eyes. "You can't bullshit me, Rem."

"Greg," she warned and tried to pull away from him but his strong grasp kept her where she was.

"Everything that Nolan's taught me is to deal with it head on. Denial isn't going to help you," he said. When she stared back at him stubbornly, he sighed heavily and looked off into the darkened ocean. Bringing his eyes back to her, they were dark and far away as he spoke. "Out there today, I thought about my dad for the first time in a while. I was remembering all kinds of things but ironically, it wasn't the bad stuff. I was remembering good times that I had with him. Things that I haven't thought about in over forty years. It was good. It was important."

Remy felt a wave of emotion wash over her and she tried to push it down but it wouldn't go.

"I've spent so much time hating her that I don't know how to remember the good times," she said finally.

"I thought that too," he told her. "You have to dig deeper."

"I don't want to remember the good times," she cried as a tear slipped over her lashes onto her cheek. "I don't want to because I… I don't want to forgive her for giving this to me." She wiped at her nose as more tears fell. "I don't want to forgive her for taking me away from you."

He took a breath and looked into her eyes. His blues ones held her gray ones for a long tremulous moment before he spoke. "You're here right now."

Overcome by his sincerity, Remy threw her arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. "I love you so much. I don't want to forget what it was like to be so happy together."

His large hands roamed soothing over her back, calming her as he held her. "I love you. You are the one thing I haven't managed to screw up in my life. I won't let you forget. I promise."

Remy touched her hands to his face and kissed him sweetly on the mouth. "Take me back to the hotel."

He gave her a little smile, his eyes red from his own unshed tears. "Ok."

She looked at him for a long moment in amazement. Here he was the one thinking and speaking rationally and she was the one running and deflecting, resorting back to their old ways of denial.

"When did you get your shit so together?" she asked, remembering how he had asked her that very same question as they stood at Kutner's almost half a year ago.

He chuckled and sniffed at the air to clear his throat. "When you lost yours and agreed to be my wife."

Remy nodded and gave him a squeeze. _Yeah, that sounded about right…_


	38. Chapter 38

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 38

Remy was excited. Today was the day. Wedding dress shopping. She had secretly been dreaming about this moment since she had said yes to Greg over a month ago. Well, in all actuality, she had secretly been dreaming of this moment since she was a little girl. But, that was really just too much to admit when as a raging feminist, she thought of herself as an independent, successful woman who didn't need a man to complete her. _Honestly though, what girl hasn't dreamt of being a princess for a day?_ And after all, the big princess wedding was really _all about the dress. _

Yes, she was conforming to social mores and standards. And yes, she was caught up in the misogynistic constructs of what the white virginal wedding dress symbolized, but Remy didn't care. She wanted it all. Dress, veil, bouquet, pretty shoes and the silly little garter. The whole kit and caboodle. And dammit if she wasn't thrilled to be finally doing it.

Brushing her hair one last time and dabbing on a little bit of mascara, Remy finished getting ready for the day when she heard the door bell ring. Her heart sped up a bit and she excitedly trotted out into the living room to answer the door, not even bothering to expect that the King would get up from his throne on the couch. She glanced at the TV and had to laugh. Ironically enough, he was watching a 'Say Yes to the Dress' marathon, _again_, that had started two hours ago. At this rate, he would be camped out all day.

Pulling the door open, she was greeted with a warm smile and a great, big hug from Blythe. "Oh, it is just so wonderful to see you again, dear," the older woman cooed as she enveloped Remy in her arms.

Remy squeezed the woman lovingly and stepped back to allow her entrance into the loft. "I'm so happy you decided to come. I can't even tell you how much this means to me."

"Oh darling," she placed a soft hand on her arm and beamed at her. "You have no idea how much this means _to me_."

"Mom?" House had managed to extricate himself from the sofa and limped heavily over to the end of the hallway to investigate the situation. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Don't use that tone with me, Gregory," his mother reprimanded him with humor in her eyes as she walked down the long hallway to press a kiss on his cheek. Remy closed the door behind her and followed them back into the living room.

"Is Aunt Sarah alright?" he questioned, curious as to why his mother would suddenly be in town again. He gave her a hug as an afterthought when she held out her arms to him and then absently brushed kissed her on the cheek.

"Yes, sweetheart, her radiation therapy is going as well as can be expected," she told him, stepping out of his embrace. "She's working up the strength to be ready for your wedding."

"Then why are you here?" He was clearly perplexed and Remy felt a little bad about not telling him about his mother's impromptu visit. It really was a spur of the moment decision on both of their parts and she hadn't kept it from him intentionally. It has just kind of played out this way.

"I called her, Greg," Remy told him.

"Why?"

"I needed her."

Blythe sighed at him with measured patience and gave Remy a sympathetic, knowing look. "I am here, sweetheart, to take your lovely fiancée wedding dress shopping, if you must know."

Remy turned to her future husband biting her thumbnail, anxiously awaiting his response to the news. She wasn't sure how he would feel about having his mother so involved in their lives this way, but she really needed her comfort right now. Evidently, he was not thrilled with his mother's presence because his brow furrowed darkly. He looked between both her and his mother in what seemed like aggravated confusion.

"You came all this way just to go dress shopping with her? Why?"

Blythe smiled at him and looked on him with sage eyes. "Darling, this is one of the most important days in a woman's life. She needs love and support and no woman should have to experience it alone."

His brow creased further and his lips turned into a cynical frown. "It's dress shopping for crying out loud, not shopping for a casket."

Blythe tutted impatiently at him and let out a resigned sigh. "Honestly sweetheart, for such a brilliant man you can be so dense."

Remy gasped at his mother's blunt comment, but then almost laughed out loud at the expression on his face. He looked mortally offended and petulantly chagrinned all wrapped up in one.

Touching his arm, Remy tried to smooth over his irritation. "I asked her to go with me."

"Why? Isn't J. Terrance fairy godmother enough for you?" he demanded skeptically.

Remy sighed and then leveled a look at him. _After their conversation last week about her mother, did she really have to spell it out for him?_ "You watch those stupid dress shows. All the girls have family there with them. They have an entire entourage that goes with them. If it's not their sister or cousin… it's their mother." She took a steadying breath and frowned a bit, realizing for the first time just how much this mattered to her. "I asked her to go because… I don't have any of that."

His face softened and he tried not to roll his eyes even though he was understanding what she was saying to him. He looked at her, a little affronted that she had not asked him to partake in the exercise. "Rem, I could have gone with you."

"Oh Heaven's no!" Blythe exclaimed. "A husband should never see his bride in her wedding gown before she walks down that aisle. That is cardinal rule number one of wedding lore."

"That's an old wives' tale," he replied obstinately. This time he actually did roll his eyes and snorted a bit in thinly veiled contempt.

"But tradition nonetheless," the older woman objected, lifting her chin at him stubbornly.

"There's no reason why I can't go with you. I can pick out a dress with the best of them," he stated stubbornly.

Remy looked at him and then back at his mother unsure of what to do. She really hadn't expected this little turn of events. She loved him for his enthusiasm about this whole wedding but she wanted one thing to be totally her choice, her special surprise just for him. That was _the dress. _She loved him, but she didn't want him there.

Blythe recognized her panic and stepped forward. "You are not allowed to go."

House blinked at his mother and then laughed. "I'm not allowed? What am I five? I'm going."

Remy looked at him. His childish tone had made his own point, only digging himself deeper.

The older woman drew herself up to her full height and pointed a finger at him that made him draw back, imperceptibly, but a retreat nonetheless. "You are not to see her in her wedding dress until the ceremony, Gregory House, and that is that."

Remy was shocked when after a long drawn out moment, he nodded curtly and slowly went back to his spot on the couch. His mother had just put him in his place… _and_ he quietly accepted it. _Wow… she had to figure out who was selling that moxy if she intended on spending the rest of her life with him_. That would be a handy tool, indeed.

Grabbing her purse from the table behind the couch, she rounded the arm of the sofa and leaned over to kiss him gently on the lips. "Don't pout," she whispered and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"You didn't tell me my mother was coming," he grumbled to her.

"Because I knew you'd be annoyed," she told him.

"What happened to truth and honesty? Hmm?"

Remy grinned at him and touched her hand to his cheek. "I never lied. I just omitted to tell you."

"Semantics," he griped.

"I love you," she said and kissed him again.

"I'm going cake shopping without you," he pouted and looked away childishly.

Remy smiled, tickled anew by just how much he wanted to partake in the entire wedding adventure. He looked forward to every detail and that made her cherish him so much more. "Just no chocolate mousse, okay?"

"What? What kind of woman doesn't love chocolate mousse?" he looked at her like she'd gone stark raving mad.

"This one," she replied. "Chocolate cake, chocolate fudge, pure creamy milk chocolate, but no fluffy yucky chocolate mousse."

"Blasphemer!"

"Come, Remy dear, we need to get going if we're going to meet that darling little wedding planner of yours," Blythe interjected.

"How does she know about him?" he questioned warily.

Remy bit the corner of her lip. "He kinda, sorta, called her the other day…"

"What?" House sat up on the couch and nearly jumped out of his skin. "That little walking Vaudeville show called my mother?" He looked annoyed. "What is she, Ma Bell? Everyone's feels the need to play telephone with her except me?"

"He needed to know what her favorite flower was for the corsage he's having made for her," Remy explained. "And something about what color goes with her eyes."_ Geesh, what was he getting so worked up for today?_

"He really is a darling, sweetheart," Blythe called over to him. "So charming. So professional. You two are in the most capable of hands."

House rolled his eyes and settled back against the cushions. "Don't let him get… _carried away_ with my mother."

Remy smiled at him and touched her hand to his shoulder. It was sweet he was so protective of her more refined sensibilities. "Don't worry, everything will be fine."

"Mmm, that's what I'm afraid of," he muttered sarcastically, as if that was the most horrible thing in the world.

With that, she kissed him one more time and they were off to meet J. Terrance.

Once they were in the car Remy, turned to Blythe. "I'm so sorry he was such a grump about all this."

Blythe waved her off and chuckled. "Please, dear. I've been his mother for fifty years. I know all of his grumpy little quirks. It doesn't faze me. And besides, this is just as important to me."

"Really?" Remy was surprised by her enthusiastic response.

"Oh yes, dear. I have been blessed with a brilliant, wonderful son, but I will never have the experience of having a daughter to share this magnificent time with," she told her. "I thank you for allowing me to be a part of it."

That sentiment touched Remy deep inside. It meant a lot to know how much Blythe revered her and cherished making her part of their family. Family was a scarce and unpredictable prospect for both her and House. Events and dynamics in their past had made them forgo regular familial connections. Instead, they had relied on themselves and had wound up very much alone because of it. It felt good to finally put all of that fear of connection and want of something more aside, in order to forge real bonds between people who cared for them. To be able to do that now with House's mother, in lieu of her own, meant everything to Remy.

A short while later, Remy pulled into the parking lot of the small designer dress boutique and turned off the car. She turned to Blythe with renewed excitement in her eyes. "Are you ready to meet the craziest, most fabulous man in the world?"

"I have been waiting for it all week," Blythe chuckled, equally as excited.

"Fair warning, he is sometimes way over the top," Remy said.

"I'm sure it will be fine," she said gathering her purse.

"He's kind of like Ken took over Barbie's dream house and now fancies himself as the next Cher only with _really_ short hair and way better taste," Remy ventured by way of explanation of the man who was virtually indescribable.

"Don't worry, he seems like a doll," Blythe assured her of her open-mindedness. She patted the younger woman gently on the leg. "I've heard my son say far worse things when he's thought I wasn't listening."

Remy shook her head. There was no doubt in her mind that what the woman was saying was the truth.

The two women left the car and entered the shop, announced by the jangle of happy bells on the door. The interior of the boutique was simple elegance. Wedding gowns of all kinds were displayed on upholstered dress forms in an air reminiscent of an older time when garments were hand made as if sculpted like a piece of art. There was a subtle essence of rose and gardenia to the air and it added to mystique of the exclusive dress shop. J. Terrance was standing next to an aristocratic looking woman, dressed in a flattering, classic wrap dress. Ever fabulous, J. Terrance was adorned in a pair of jodhpurs, tall shiny equestrian boots and crisp white shirt with a red paisley scarf tied like an ascot. He looked like he stepped off the page of a Ralph Lauren ad.

"There is my most chic and breathtaking bride to date!" He air kissed her on both cheeks.

"Where's the polo pony, Biff?" she teased, mimicking his greeting.

"Going to a wine tasting afterwards, Button," he explained. "Want to come with?"

"Oh that sounds like a fine way to spend the afternoon," Blythe spoke up cheerfully.

The little man turned his effervescent attention to Blythe and shivered in unrestrained excitement. "And this must be the delightfully scrumptious Mama House." He grabbed both of the woman's hands, slightly taking her off guard and making her giggle with surprise. "Oh you lovely, young woman! You simply cannot be old enough to have pushed out that crusty, albeit sexy gorgeous man, low those many years ago."

Remy grimace and made a cutting motion at her throat. "Dial it back a little, Lord of the Clever Quip," she warned.

Blythe chuckled. "Its fine dear. J. Terrance and I have spent many hours on the phone together."

"Yes, Kitten," he tapped Remy's nose with his finger and clucked his tongue at her. "Blythe and I are like old girl friends from the hood. Don't you go messin' with my flow, sister."

Remy leaned in close to his ear and whispered. "If you talk about penises and vaginas in front of his mother, he might actually kill you." She raised her eyebrows for emphasis. "Slowly."

"No peepee's or gi-gi's. Roger that, Kemo Sabe!"

Remy closed her eyes and shook her head. There was no holding back the whirlwind that was J. Terrance. She just prayed he didn't get too vulgar. Blythe seemed blissfully amused by him, so for that she was thankful. She figured, as long as the woman was happy, what House didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Alright girls, this is Mariska," J. Terrance gestured to the woman quietly waiting to the side.

"Pleasure to meet you both," she said in refined Eastern European accent.

"Mariska is the finest dressmaker in all of Hungary. She has picked out about fifty _ab-so-lute-ly a-maz-ing_ dresses for you to try on," J. Terrance gushed.

Remy swallowed. "Fifty?"

The woman smiled. "It can be a little, can ve say… overvelming."

J. Terrance waved his hand dismissively. "Well it's really more like sixty, but who's counting."

Remy gawked at him and he pushed her toward a dressing room. "Go get that skinny ass naked and let's play dress up!"

No longer in control of the situation, Remy did as she was told, heading into the large sophisticatedly designed dressing room guided by the Hungarian woman. While she was stripping down to her bare essentials, she heard J. Terrance direct Blythe to the chairs outside the huge four-way mirror. "Mama House, you just sit your beautiful derriere right here while Princess Fiona puts the first dress on."

Mariska helped Remy step into the first gown as she called out of the room to J. Terrance. "Princess Fiona? Are you saying I'm a fat green ogre?"

"No, Precious, I'm saying you're marrying a grumpy, rough around the edges ogre. And ogre's are like onions, they have layers… mmm, I just wanna peel his away… Ahem…. Don't get your panties in a bunch, Princess Buttercup…Is that better?"

Remy shook her head and chuckled. "Much."

Zipped up, Remy looked at the dress. It had a large bell skirt, a bead encrusted lace bodice and train that people could lose toddlers in. Talk about princess. _It was pretty but…meh, not really her style_. She exited the dressing room and stood on the hexagonal platform in front of the mirror.

"Oh how lovely dear," Blythe commented.

J. Terrance approached and inspected. He peered over the rim of his glasses and turned up his nose haughtily. "Too much frouff. The Dread Pirate will hate it. Off!"

Back in and then out, she tried a few more like it…

Bell shaped skirt, simple, strait hem. "No. Too Dowdy House Wife. Be gone."

Embroidered detailing on the waist with a belt. "No. Too Swiss Miss. _Auf Wiedersehen_…"

Flowers and tulle. "No. Can you say 'Christina Aguillar's Quinceanera'? _Vamanos_…"

Rhinestone embellishment. "Oh Hell No. Beyonce wouldn't even be caught dead in that."

With each one, the colorful pronouncement came from J. Terrance despite the fact that Blythe delightfully professed that they were all "Absolutely Lovely."

"Put her in the Hollywood Glam ones next," he decreed like a ringmaster and it was done.

Moments later, she exited the room in a silk charmuse, sheath dress that clung to her every bump and curve like she was Marlena Dietrich.

"I kind of like this more than the fairy princess dresses," she said turning to see her butt in the mirror. "It's sexy."

"Hmmm, sexy…" J. Terrance said dubiously. He came right over and tugged and pulled, adjusted and then frowned. Suddenly, his dainty little hands came up and cupped her braless breasts like he was measuring their weight by osmosis. Remy slapped at his hands and rolled her eyes but he wouldn't relent. "These little pea shooters will be poppin' nip all day long. And we can't have that, now can we, M.H.?" he asked tossing his head back to concur with Blythe.

Remy pressed her hands to her errant nipples and inspected their outline in the mirror. "It's a little cold in here. It won't be that bad."

"You could cut glass with them shits," J. Terrance muttered, giving Blythe a theatrical wink.

Horrified, Remy practically choked on her gasp of air when Blythe gave J. Terrance a commiserating nod of agreement. "Yes, dear, you cannot have your nipples poking people in the eye during the ceremony."

"Well holy shit, that's something you never expect to hear your mother-in-law voice out loud," Remy muttered in shock. She looked at Blythe's reflection in the mirror and the woman shrugged comically at her with a little twinkle in her blue eyes. Remy had seen that look many, many times before and she had to laugh. Evidently, House got his sense of humor from his mother.

"Ok, back to the drawing board."

Twenty more dresses and a pee break later, Remy tried on the very last dress on the rack and came out for the microscopic inspection. She stood on the platform and looked at herself. She just stared for a very, very long time. No one said anything. No one touched her. No one moved. It was as if time had stopped and it was just her alone, gazing at her own reflection in the soft light of the boutique.

God, this dress was beautiful.

Mariska's hands made a praying motion of reverence as she quietly stepped off to the side giving her some space. Taking a breath, Remy looked at J. Terrance in the mirror. He was wiping the corner of his eyes under his horn-rimmed glasses with a different paisley, silk handkerchief he had retrieved from his pocket. Immediately concerned, she shifted her eyes to Blythe. House's mother had tears streaming down her face. Her eyes glimmered with an affection that brought a wave of emotion over Remy so strong it nearly overwhelmed her. Without hesitation, the older woman rose and came to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders, just as a mother would do for her daughter. Tears prickled behind Remy's eyelids as she was overcome by the genuine sentiment in the room.

"He will think he's died and gone to heaven," Blythe whispered in her ear as she watched their reflections in amazement from over Remy's shoulder. Crying and smiling, Remy touched her hand to Blythe's warm one on her arm and let out a joyous laugh through her happy tears. This was exactly why she had asked Blythe to come along. She wouldn't have wanted her to miss this event for the world.

"_C'est magnifique_," J. Terrance applauded. "_Tres, tres exquisite! Vous êtes belle, Cheri_!" J. Terrance joined them and squeezed both women in a big gay bear hug.

Remy took another long look once the little man released her. She couldn't stop staring at herself she looked so beautiful. As soon as she had put the dress on, it had felt different than all the rest. It felt like slipping on an old friend. She knew in that very moment there was something incredibly special about it. Everyone's reaction to seeing her in it confirmed her suspicion.

"This is it," she cried. "It's the one."

J. Terrance snapped his fingers and fell into a grand orchestral bow. Coming up for air, he fanned himself, "Mariska, champagne darling! My work is done here!"


	39. Chapter 39

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 39

_A/N: Happy World Cup to my friends around the world. USA keeping the draw with the Brits gotta love that! Anyway... the torture of teaching art to the fine adolescent minds of New Jersey is almost over. Now I get to torture them with final exams! YAY! Teaching is supposed to be an enlightened profession however in this day and age if feels more sadistic, but i'm ok with that. It gets me through the day. So as I do my happy dance, pray for my muse to come back in full force so i can get these two married and on their way... it will be like writing therapy. _

_Love to you all! Enjoy!_

* * *

"Tell me why I needed to come along on this excursion," Chase groaned as House pushed open the door to the bakery.

"Because I needed a woman's opinion," House said. "You're a woman right?"

The Aussie grunted his disdain for the situation and dourly followed him in. He wasn't protesting all that hard however. He did actually drive over to come pick up House and take him to the bakery after they had lunch.

"Besides, you've done all this before," House reminded him. "It was only a year ago you married Cameron."

"Yes and look how that turned out. She picked out everything," he told him. "I was just told to show up, when and where."

"That's why I'm picking out the cake," House told him, holding up his fist in solidarity. "Us dudes have to stick together, we will triumph through testosterone and cake. Fight the power."

Chase rolled his eyes, leaving him hanging, and meandered around the front of the cases. House dropped his ignored fist and wandered over to look at some of the mock cake displays. They all seemed so elaborate. Some had sparkling gold frosting, ribbons and pearls. Others were brightly colored, crookedly angled and almost whimsical looking, like they had come from _Alice in Wonderland_. A few were beautifully decorated with clusters of hand made flowers or even silk. Most were just way too much for his liking. _Who needed all of that for something that was just going to be carved up and eaten anyway?_

"Can I help you with anything, gentlemen?" House looked up from a large smooth white tower adorned with purple roses and pearls to see a tall man approach them. Taken aback as his eyes met the voice's owner square in the Adam's apple, House actually stood up fully and stepped backward a few paces. The man was taller than House, which meant he had to be at least 6'3", if not 6'5". He was dressed in a white chef's jacket, black plaid pants and a flame printed skullcap. This dude looked like no pastry chef House had ever seen. He looked more like a Navy Seal with a scar over his eye and arms the size of tree limbs. The guy could probably crack a man's spine in half over his knee if he wanted, and yet he was a frilly cake baker. He was scary. Not at all the kind of guy he was expecting to be baking pretty wedding cakes and dainty petite fours type. That was definitely a surprise, one House couldn't have seen coming.

Chase came over, looked up and raised his eyes brows as his head tilted back at an awkward angle. "Hi."

"Um, I'm looking for a Thomaso Marte, you must be him," House said cautiously.

"You're looking at him," the large man said placing his hands on his hips. The simple movement caused his forearm muscles to ripple like machine cords over a barrel. "What can I do for you today?"

House placed his measly little cane in front of him to unconsciously mark out a boundary line that he really had no intention of defending. It was more of an impulsive instinct that any real self-preservation kind of move.

Scratching his head, House put on a casual pose pretending to be completely at ease with the state of affairs. "I was sent here by Dotty and Eileen. They say you're their house baker."

The man's chiseled face split into a wide grin and his deep brown eyes glimmered at the mention of the two women. In less than a second he turned from Rambo, Super Soldier to a big, cake baking teddy bear. "Yeah, I am," he said, his already enormous chest filling exponentially with pride. As the recognition hit, his face grew excited and he became quite animated. "You're the one having the wedding at their place?"

"That would be me," House nodded.

"Awesome," he said. "Cool, I've got a bunch of things for you and your…" He turned and looked at Chase. "Wait, I thought they said…" he paused, confused and not wanting to offend.

House rolled his eyes. _Man, he really needed to start bringing his future wife to do this wedding planning crap. He'd been assumed gay more times this month than he had been in the entire last year._ Considering he had lived with different two men in that same time period, that was saying a lot.

Chase shrugged and held up his hands indifferently. "Not me. I don't even know why I'm here."

"She's out doing the dress thing," House explained. He must have made an involuntary pissed off face because Thomaso nodded his head and grinned knowingly. House couldn't help it; he was still miffed he wasn't allowed to go. It was such a stupid tradition.

"Yeah, I hear ya… no guys allowed," Thomaso commiserated. The large man held up a finger. "Wait here, I have a list of flavors, styles, pictures of cakes I've done for you to take a look at. I'll be right back."

"Sure," House said and watched as the huge form retreated into the back room hurriedly. It was kind of impressive how fast a guy his size could move. What he lacked in smallness, he made up for in agility.

"I didn't know the Incredible Hulk was baking cakes now," Chase muttered, coming up along side of him.

"Side job?" House speculated.

"Slow economy for super heroes, I guess."

After a few moments, the large man returned with an album and a handful of papers. He placed them down on a table with a few chairs that he had off to the side to meet with clients. "Ok, so how large of a party we talkin' here?"

"Twenty to twenty-five people," House said.

"Ok, something small, maybe three tiers, with a six inch one at the top for the anniversary cake." The dark haired man said and began to make some notes.

"Anniversary cake? What is that?" House asked curiously.

The large man stopped writing and glanced up at him. "Oh, it's the top part of the cake that you take home and freeze to be eaten on your first anniversary."

House looked at him quizzically. "People really do that?"

Chase scoffed and then sat up straighter as if he just recalled something important. "I guess that means I can defrost the cake and finally eat it."

Looking askance at the blonde doctor, House asked, "You still have yours?"

The younger doctor shrugged. "I actually forgot I had it until he mentioned it."

"Wouldn't that be kind of sacrilegious now, I mean after everything?"

"No. I get to eat it all myself _and_ with a beer. It's the ultimate fuck you to Allison," Chase said a gleam growing in his eye. "Besides, it was really good cake."

Thomaso laughed. "Bitter divorce, huh?"

"You could say that," Chase muttered. "She was a self-righteous…"

"All right enough about you and your failed marriage, back to me," House demanded.

Thomaso chuckled again and then handed House a laminated card. "These are all the flavors that can be done. There are some fantasy flavors, but they have an extra charge per tier. We also have gluten free in case anyone is allergic or sensitive."

House looked at all of the choices. S_ome of them looked really delicious. Almond Amaretto, Kahlua, Limoncello Cream..._ A thought dawned on him. Maybe he could call that guy who made the ice cream for Chase's bachelor party._ Now that was an idea._ "She says no chocolate mousse," he said as he read on. _Mango Mousse, Raspberry Vanilla swirl._

Chase rolled his eyes. "You are so whipped."

"Dude, we all are," Thomaso commiserated with a laugh.

"_Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?"_

Feeling like he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, House spun around in his chair to see J. Terrance with his tiny fists planted impudently on his mini little man hips. He was out of breath and flushed from some kind of overexertion. And he looked like he just hopped off his equestrian stag in the Hamptons. _What was up with that?_

"What the hell are you doing here?" House demanded, taken aback at the little man's sudden appearance.

"My job!" he exclaimed incredulously.

House rolled his eyes at him. "Why aren't you with Remy?"

"Our darling little angel is all set. And now your fabulous mother and she are at the wine tasting that I'm supposed to be at but alas, I have to be here to save you from you!" he spun out in a longwinded diatribe that left him breathless and maybe even a little flushed.

"I am a big boy. I can pick out a cake by myself," House grumbled. "How did you even know I was here?"

"My super secret network of auspicious spies, that's how." He turned to the cake boss and bat his eyelashesalmost kicking up his heel in girlish adoration. "Hi, Thomaso."

House turned back to the giant cake maker and stared at him in disbelief. "You called him?"

The large man shrugged his oversized shoulders and nodded. "Yeah, sorry dude, you're here to pick out a cake without your lady. That's never a good plan. And he brings me good business… I kinda had to."

"That's great," House grunted and held out his cell phone. "You want to call my mother too? So she can come tell me I'm not allowed to pick out the cake either. I'm not allowed to see the dress and now I can't even choose the wedding cake on my own. When did women and their wanna-be's take over the world?"

Suddenly, J. Terrance looked at House with big eyes and his lower lip began to protrude outward. And then it quivered. "You were going to pick out your wedding cake without me? How could you?"

"What's the big deal? It's just cake," House said.

J. Terrance put his hand over his mouth and shook his head gravely. "Just cake." He crossed his arms and looked at Thomaso like House had just run over his fluffy Persian cat. "He says 'it's just cake'." He paced a bit and then stopped in front of the small table and waved his arms escalating to a feverish pitch. "Just cake! It's not just cake! It's only the penultimate moment of the entire wedding!"

House slid a glance to Chase who looked back at him with a confused shrug. Then J. Terrance let out a stifled little cry. "I can't believe you," he said in a strangled voice. "Just cake!" He fanned himself with his hands like a humming bird. "How could he say such a thing?" He covered his mouth with his hand and let out a stifled sob. "I need a moment alone."

"Is he crying?" Chase asked House in disbelief as they watched J. Terrance stalk away in a flurry.

House looked at the little man he had come to know over the past few weeks. He was crazy, over-the-top, most definitely unique, but this was just insane. "Umm… Apparently so," House sat in bemused amazement.

House turned to Thomaso and the big man shrugged helplessly. "Don't look at me. I don't know what to do. I've never seen him like this."

Chase looked awkwardly between the upset wedding planner and then back to House. "You should say something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Chase said. "Go tell him you're sorry. Since that word is now in your vocabulary."

"But I'm not sorry," House complained. "I just wanted to look at some damn cakes."

J. Terrance let out another dramatic sob, like House had just backed over the cat he'd previously run over.

House rolled his eyes and dropped his head in resignation, sighing heavily. _Oh god, was he for real?_ He seriously just wanted to pick out a cake, something white that tasted good. _Who cared?_ It was a cake for crying out loud.

Begrudgingly, House stood up and limped over to where J. Terrance was. "Stop crying."

The little man refused to turn around. Instead, he tilted his head stubbornly and pretended not to hear him. _God, he hated when women did that_. Ironically, it was like fifty times worse when a man did it.

"Don't you think you're being a little over dramatic?" House continued. Evidently that was the wrong thing to say.

The little man's shoulders tensed under his starched white shirt. "You take me for granted."

"What?" House scoffed in pure incredulity. _Was he serious?_

"You do. You take me for granted," J. Terrance whirled around and pointed a finger at him. "I have been working my delicate, magic inspired fingers to the bone to make this wedding a perfect experience for you and that gorgeous, ethereal creature the gods have bestowed upon you for reasons I cannot even fathom and all I get is crabby attitude and the attempt to choose something as vital as the wedding cake on your own, without my input, my expertise, my fantablous, amazing flair! You have hurt me, deeply, Mister. Deeply."

House took a step forward and encroached into the blubbering little man's space. He peered down at him and brought his face nose to nose with his. He smelled reminiscently like a cinnamon bun and cherries. It was an odd scent on a man and that was a little disconcerting.

"Stop crying like a bitch and get your skinny little ass over there and help me pick out the cake or so help me, I'll beat you with my cane."

J. Terrance blinked at him in shock and then in the next second a slow smile stole over his face and he tilted his head coyly. "You're going to beat with your cane? Ooo Daddy, tell me more."

"Now!" House ordered.

The fruity little man huffed in righteous compliance and then moved to return to the table. "Fine, let's do this right." He snapped his fingers restoring the correct balance of gayness and oozing self-confidence he normally wore like an Armani suit.

"Are you sure you're not bi-polar?" House asked, dizzy from the rapid turnaround as he followed the vindicated little man. "Because I can prescribe some meds that'll take care of that problem in a jiffy."

"Oh sweet cheeks, time for playing doctor later. Right now, we need to pick out fabulous _croquembouche_!"

* * *

At a little past 8:00, Remy unlocked the deadbolt to the loft and floated in on a cloud of Shiraz, Cabernet and Prosecco_._ She felt fantastically relaxed and just a tad bit giddy. _God, what a day._ What more could she have asked for? Dress, shoes, and accoutrements, done. She spent the afternoon laughing and eating amazing food with Blythe, which was completely fantastic. They drank wine and tasted scrumptious appetizers in the brilliant sunshine. Utterly priceless.

House would be so jealous. Hell, not _would be_, he _was going to be_ jealous. Especially since she kicked him out of the she-woman-man-haters club. She and his mother had spent the day bonding and he had to spend it home, pouting on the couch because he couldn't partake. Oh well, he would just have to get over it. She giggled to herself as she trod down the hallway. _Oh yeah, that Prosecco was really good._

When Remy hit the living room from the long hallway, she was greeted with the soft strains of jazz on the stereo. Looking around, she noticed the dim candlelight and the scent of seductive vanilla as she stepped into the room. A smile crept over her face. _What on earth was he up to?_

He came out of the bedroom then, barefoot and dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck that showed the patch of skin she loved to burry her nose in and just sniff. He looked rumpled and sexy and little heat of desire pooled in her belly as he approached her.

Arching her eyebrow, she waited for him to come up in front of her before she spoke. "Special evening planned?"

He nodded slowly and brought his hands up toward her face. He was holding a long silk scarf and had an interesting gleam in his eye.

"What is that for?" she asked curiously.

"Turn around," he told her.

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks because of the wine and the anticipation of his mysterious behavior, Remy did as she was told. He gently placed the scarf over her eyes and tied the smooth, cool silk around the back of her hair, blindfolding her with the luxurious fabric. "Oh," she gasped breathlessly when he brushed the strands away from her neck and placed a whisper of a kiss on her pulse point.

Slowly, deliberately with deft and skilled hands, he began to undress her until she was standing in just her bra and panties. With each brush of his fingertips, her skin was electrified to fine gooseflesh. The simple ministrations excited her beyond belief. Every sensation was magnified because she could only feel him, hear him moving around her and feel his breath on her skin. Suddenly he was gone and then within seconds she felt a silk robe slip over her shoulders. She placed her arms into the armholes as he tied the sash around her waist. She didn't own a silk robe, so he had obviously done a little shopping this afternoon. Smiling, she luxuriated in the feel of the delicate fabric on her sensitive skin. Just like the fuzzy haze in her brain from the wine, the material felt amazing.

"Give me your hand," he instructed quietly. The soft strains of jazz set the tone. The timbre of his voice promised what was to come. It was romantic and sexy and Remy was completely game for whatever he had in mind. Cautiously, she held her hand out and he took it, gently guiding her somewhere. When she finally felt the edge of the bed against her knees, her pulse sped up. He evidently had plans for her… that she wasn't allowed to see. She was at his mercy and that was quite exciting.

"What is this all about?" she asked as he sat her back against the pillows.

Softly running his hands over her bare legs, she could hear him chuckle. "I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise," she echoed. "Really?"

"Mhm," he murmured. She felt the bed shift as he moved. He grabbed something from the nightstand and then positioned himself back beside her thighs. There was a sweet smell in the air and Remy inhaled deeply.

"Open your mouth," he said.

Wrinkling her nose, she bit the edge of her lip nervously. "Am I going to want what's going in there?"

"Oh yeah," he laughed. She wasn't quite sure whether to trust him or not. His voice was kind of seductive, but it had a teasing quality to it that she had learned over the years to distrust. She heard him shift and then something soft touched her lips. Remy's tongue darted out to taste what he'd placed there. It was sweet, delicious. And not at all what she was expecting. "Tell me what you taste."

"Mmm, vanilla, raspberry…" she said as she let the confection melt on her tongue. "Nice."

"You like?"

"Yeah, it's really good."

"Ok," he said. "How about this one?"

He touched another bite to her lips. This one had a richer, more seductive feel. "Mmm, chocolate. Rich dark chocolate and…" she had to think for a moment, "Rum?"

"Very good," he praised her. He traced his fingers up her leg to cradle her thigh with his warm hand. He touched his lips to hers and licked off the remaining essence. "Dark chocolate cake soaked in Jamaican rum with a dark chocolate truffle center."

"That is just sinful," she moaned a little.

"I know," he whispered against her ear.

Sighing, Remy turned her nose to his cheek and smelled his hair. He smelled clean and delicious himself and he was making her aroused just by his nearness to her.

Slowly he moved back, taking some of his heat from her. But he soon returned and curled her fingers gently around a small aperitif glass. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled the sweet aroma of the alcohol inside. "Mmm, what is this?"

"Taste it," he ordered.

Sipping it, she let the smooth liqueur roll over her tongue. It was mildly fruity, not biting or harsh. "Sherry?"

"Port," he corrected.

Running her finger down the side of the glass, Remy titled her head. "Do I have glasses like these?"

"No," he said taking the cordial glass from her.

"You've been a busy little beaver today," she noticed. He must have purchased those too on his little shopping excursion.

He didn't say anything. Instead, he brushed his nose against her temple and placed a tender kiss at the corner of her jaw. Breathing in her scent there, his breath was warm as it dusted her skin. She wanted to touch him, to see him. This not being able to see was fun, but she liked to look at him as he seduced her. Bringing her hand up to remove the blindfold, he stopped her and pressed a kiss into her palm. "Uh uh," he murmured in a soft reprimand. She could feel his smile against her hand, his beard tickling the soft flesh. "I have more samples."

"More?"

"A few more," he said, moving to place another taste inside her mouth. "Tell me…"

"Lemon…cello? And cream," she guessed curiously. The combination of flavors was delightful, sweet, tart, with a mellow liqueur permeating the cream.

"Remind you of anything?"

"That fabulous ice cream you got for Chase bachelor party," she recalled. _Oh god, she loved that stuff_.

"Yes," he replied.

The sugary tanginess melted across her tongue leaving the subtle aftertaste of mild alcohol and sweet cream. "Oh wow, that is amazing."

"I like that one, too," he said.

"I want more," she told him.

"More?" he teased. He must have been waving it under her nose because she could smell the delicious confection. "What do you say?"

"Please?" she played along.

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"Depends," she giggled.

He touched the piece to her lips and then withdrew it quickly making her groan. "Aww, come on that's not fair."

"You want it?"

"Yes."

"Tell me how bad you want it?"

"Really bad," she almost purred. He was taunting her and she knew it. It was his way of getting revenge for not letting him go wedding dress shopping. He was the one in control now and he was making her beg. _Fine, she'd play along_. "I want it really, _really badly_."

Carefully, he placed another full bite into her mouth. She chewed on the soft, delicate cake savoring the flavor. Slowly, he skimmed his hand along her waist and undid the belt of her robe. Swiftly, he pulled her flat against the mattress causing her to gasp in surprise. She giggled at herself and reached out to touch his arms anchoring herself to him. She could feel his strong arms under his sleeves. The cuffs were rolled up casually, leaving his forearms exposed. Running her fingers along the length, she could feel the honed muscles under his warm skin, visualizing the smattering of hair and the slight tan he had gotten at the beach. She loved the feel of his arms; she could touch them forever. It was one of the sexist things about him.

She chuckled slightly as her stomach flinched when he placed a trail of kisses down her belly. She gasped again when she felt a cool sticky sensation touch her stomach. "What are you doing?"

His laughter sounded like mischievous music in her ears. "It's my turn," he said.

When his tongue came down to lap up the dessert on her belly, she practically moaned out in ecstasy. "Oh…oh…mmmm…"


	40. Chapter 40

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 40

House looked at the list one more time and sighed. They really had no friends. It was pathetic. He had Wilson. And Nolan, but that was kind of a forced détente, even though he respected the man. There was Alvie, his crazy roommate from Mayfield. He'd only seen him once since leaving the institution, but there was something about the plucky man House got a kick out of. He was annoying as shit but he kind of got under the skin like a parasite and you either had to scratch him out or take some serious medication to make him go away. In House's world, he supposed that that qualified as friend material.

Remy had a few friends she had maintained from her time at Newton Memorial. One was a really cute blonde name Sheryl. House was a little disappointed to know they had truly been 'just friends' because the mental images of the two of them touching and kissing and groping each other would have been really hot. Nevertheless, she was nice enough, not terribly annoying, and easy on the eyes so House could tolerate her enough to spend a rare evening or two dining with her and her boyfriend, whose name he promptly forgot. She had a few others but he wasn't interested enough to recall much about them. They were typical women and that bored him.

Of course they had Chase, Taub and his wife and… well, they would have had Foreman but such was life. They also would have had Cuddy and Lucas but… House hadn't spoken to the woman since he'd walked out of the hospital over a month ago. And he figured Remy could care less, since the two women never had a terribly amicable relationship to begin with. Hell, when it came to him, he wasn't even really sure how to classify what his own relationship with Cuddy was. They were colleagues. Truth be told, it was more like dictator and servant, depending on the day the roles were up for grabs. Sometimes during their reign together, they were cordial, downright flirty with each other, and they had an odd sort of truce or reliance on each other. If he had to put a label on it, he'd say they were dysfunctional friends. Sure he had once thought they could have been more. But, that was long gone now.

House had been almost friends with Lucas, as well. That was until he had discovered the private investigator's budding relationship with Cuddy. That pissed him off on a few levels; one, because he was bothered that she had chosen the quirky little man over him and two, because he actually liked Lucas. With the private eye sleeping with his frenemy, that posed some undeniable trust issues that House couldn't overlook. So now the question begged, did they send them an invitation anyway?

"Sweetheart, I don't really care," Remy told him. "If you feel like you want her to be there, then invite her."

"But you hate her," he said.

"I don't _hate her_, hate her," she shrugged. "I think she's a bitch for firing me but, I just think she more hates me because of you."

"Because of me?" he questioned innocently.

Remy placed her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. "Don't even play that game. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"She… well, you're probably right, but…" he hedged. House didn't know why but the idea of Cuddy not being at his wedding was nagging at him. It somehow didn't feel right for her to not be there.

Remy walked over to the table and took his face in her hands. "Babe, you've known her since you guys first invented fire."

House narrowed his eyes at her jibe about his age and she quickly grinned back at him.

"Invite her if you want her to be there," she told him. "I'll be so drunk with happiness, I won't even care."

"Maybe," he sighed and watched her as she let go of his face and moved to slip on her flip-flops.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and took out her keys. "I'm going to go pick up the food."

House nodded. They were having Indian tonight. _Alloo Gobi, Chicken Vindaloo and Malai Kofta with Naan_. He couldn't wait. "Ok, I'll be here doing the _six_ invitations."

Remy rolled her eyes at him. "It's more like fifteen," she reminded him. "Just make sure you put the little piece of tissue over the print."

House tossed a glare at her. "I know. I had the entire tutorial from J.T. '_The tissue needs to nestle over it just-so, like glitter on a transvestite's fake-ass bosom_'…" he mimicked the silly man's voice.

Remy chuckled. "You know how parti…" Suddenly, she stumbled over something and dropped her keys almost taking a header into the table behind the sofa.

Startled, House immediately got up and limped over to her as fast as he could, righting her as she caught herself. "Are you ok?"

"Yes," she grumbled angrily.

He looked around the floor to see what she tripped on. There was nothing there.

Nothing at all.

He ran his palms over her arms and glanced at her hands. She had picked up her keys and was holding onto them with tight fingers. "What just happened?"

"I tripped over my stupid shoe," she barked in irritation, avoiding his eyes.

House raised his eyebrows at her. The fact that she couldn't look at him led him to believe there was something more to it than that.

"Greg, I'm fine. It was really just my shoe," she said with a sigh. "These things are cute but stupid for walking in."

"Like all women's shoes," he said stepping back from her, warily taking a look as he did, checking for any residual tremors, if she had even had one at all. Not wanting to have a confrontation about it with her, he shrugged nonchalantly and moved back to the table knowing full well that she was as shaken by the little misstep as he was. "Keep wearing those dumb things and you'll wind up breaking your neck before you ever have to worry about dying from Huntington's."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," she tossed back at him sarcastically. Taking a calming breath, she gave him a thin smile and took off to leave the apartment. "I'll be back soon."

Hearing the door click shut, House sat at the table and ran his hand over his face, thinking. The symptoms could present themselves at anytime. He knew it. She knew it. They could have a full and fruitful ten to twelve years with not a single shudder. Or, they could have a mere two years before she succumbed to pneumonia from being bedridden and to weak to move anymore. It was a crapshoot and he hated that fact. There was nothing he could do for her. He was the most capable diagnostician in the world and he couldn't do a damned thing to cure the woman he loved with his entire soul. If it weren't so tragically ironic, it would be downright fucking laughable. It wasn't fair. But House knew that song by heart - _You can't always get what you want, but you just might find, you get what you need_.

He needed her. That much was fact. She was everything to him. Now that she had become such an integral part of his life, he wasn't sure how he was going to be able to move on once she was no longer part of it.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, breaking his train of thought. She couldn't possibly be back yet. It had only been about ten minutes. Rising, he grabbed his cane and walked down the long hall to answer the door.

"Hello, House."

House stood in amazement as if the power of his thoughts had summoned the person in front of him.

"Goodbye, Cuddy." Falling on his old habits, he went to slam the door in her face. Her hand came out and kept it from shutting rudely on her as she stepped slightly over the threshold.

"House, can I please come in?" she asked him. Her face was her usual firm mask of professionalism but there was a pleading in her eyes to be forgiven.

Contemplating for a second whether he really wanted to talk to her, he finally stood back and led her into his new home. It seemed incongruous to have her here, like she somehow didn't belong, but then again it was always strange to actually see her outside of the hospital. It was almost like she was part of the actual brick and mortar. A little like finding out that your first grade teacher actually cooked and did things outside of school like real people.

"What do you want?" he asked her as they hit the dining room. He remained standing because he didn't want to be polite and invite her to sit down. He just wanted to hear what her agenda was, because she certainly wasn't here for a social call. They never did that, even before.

"Forty year old man, extreme inflammation in his left shoulder, elbow and wrist. He complains of severe uncontrollable itching and night sweats."

"Great, give it the Dream Team. Kobe, Gasol and the one with the good hair will figure it out," he said. "Call me Phil Jackson, I've coached them well."

"He's going blind in one eye," she tempted him.

"He's got another one," he quipped insensitively.

"I want to offer your old job back," she cut right to the chase, ignoring him.

House scoffed. "Funny, I don't remember you taking it away from me. I quit."

Her face was unreadable, her grey eyes cool. "I know. I wish you didn't."

"I wouldn't have quit if you hadn't gone psycho bitch and fired Remy," he told her.

He saw her flinch slightly at the accusation or rather his interpretation of it. "I might have overreacted."

"Ya think?"

"Look House, the hospital needs you," she began. "Patients need you. Your team needs you."

Her voice softened on the last one in hopes that he might respond on an emotional level to the plea. Back when he had nothing but his ego and his pain, that might have worked.

"I don't need any of that anymore," he told her leaning on his cane casually as if he didn't have a care in the world. The truth was he had everything he needed right here.

"I know that you won't come back unless Remy comes too," she qualified. "I still haven't filled the ER position since Cameron left. I'm willing to give it to her."

"Wow, you really want me to come back," he huffed a laugh. He ran his thumb over his eyebrow in curiosity. That was quite a bargaining chip she was throwing on the table. Cuddy never thought Remy was all that great of a doctor, she knew she had Huntington's and now she was offering her the Chief Resident in the ER. That was heavy a concession on the administrator's part. Her manipulation skills had risen to Wilson level. Impressive.

"Yes, I do." She shifted uncomfortably in her high heels and flowery skirt with the admission. "I've missed you."

House stared at her for a long moment trying to discern her sincerity. He knew from experience that she was a great negotiator. She had balls most men didn't and the gumption of a prized fighter. He'd seen her put pompous lawyers and greedy insurance companies in their place. He'd seen her stand up to him like a mother bear guarding her cubs more times than he cared to remember. She was as tough as they made when it came to that hospital of hers.

But, House wasn't sure if he cared anymore. He knew that what she was offering was a one time deal, a take or leave it scenario. He also knew now what it was like to just be home and available to Remy twenty-four hours a day. Her little fall right before she left was surely an accident. But, what if it wasn't? What if her symptoms were starting? How much time would they have together? There were too many unknowns. Too many things were left unanswered and open-ended. And he certainly couldn't make a decision like this, even contemplating taking a job for her and going back to his old one, without her input.

"How long is this deal on the table for?" he asked her.

"For as long as you need," she stated.

House nodded. "I'm not promising anything."

"I understand," she said, a touch of empathy in her voice.

The front door opened as Remy returned with their dinner. When she rounded the corner of the wall that divided the hallway from the living room, House could smell the aroma of Indian food. He looked over to her. The look on her face dropped when she saw Cuddy standing in her house, talking to him.

The older woman flicked her eyes awkwardly between the two of them. "I should go," she said. "Congratulations on your wedding, Remy."

Remy smiled at her, though House could see that it didn't reach all the way to her eyes. "Thank you," she replied as she brought the bag to the table and placed it on top careful not to touch the invitations he was working on. Suddenly, she called out to the woman before she made it to the hallway. "Cuddy wait."

The brunette turned back to the table with a curious look in her eyes.

Remy walked up to her and tucked one of the pale yellow envelopes in her hand. "We would love it if you and Lucas would come to our wedding."

House was surprised by the action almost as much as Cuddy was. The older woman looked at the invitation in her hand and smiled thinly. "We'd love to be there."

"Bring Rachel, too," Remy offered. "My cousin has four kids. She'll fit right in."

"Thank you," she said to her and then looked at House. "Talk it over and think about what I said."

House nodded and watched her go. He began the clean-up process of the table so they could eat and knew immediately when the question was going to come. The door clicked…and on cue, "What the hell was that all about?"

"She wants us to come back to the hospital," he told her.

"Oh," it was a statement, peppered with wariness and curiosity.

"Yeah, oh."

"And?" she prompted as she went into the kitchen.

"She wants you to head the ER."

"Oh."

"And?" He couldn't believe that was all she had to say on the matter.

He could hear her grabbing the plates and silverware. When she returned her brow was furrowed. "And you'll be going back to the team?"

"That's the idea," he said sitting down and taking out the containers of food. Her expression was placid. He couldn't really tell what she was thinking and that bothered him a bit.

"Well, that's different," she commented, indifferently. "ER really is my specialty. But running it? I don't know. I'm not like Cameron. I never have been."

"We don't have to make a decision now," he told her. "We don't even have to take her offer. Like I said before, we have plenty of money to cover us. I'm just telling you what she said."

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she declared looking at him with big eyes. "I want to eat, and do our invitations like we planned."

"Ok," he agreed, because seriously this was a curveball he hadn't intended. "Thank you for giving her the invite."

"No problem," she said, opening up the Alloo Gobi and wafting the curried aroma to her nose. "You needed me to."

He reached out and stopped her hand, lacing his fingers in hers. "I need you for a lot of things. And you need me." The unspoken reason dangled between them like the 800 pound gorilla no one wanted to address.

She smiled sadly at him and it tugged at his heart. They were supposed to be basking in the joy of their upcoming wedded bliss and now they were immersed in the visible reminder of her demise and the unwanted complication of whether or not to go back to work. He supposed they had lived in a bubble of perfection for too long and now reality was rudely knocking on the fragile surface. It was only a matter of time before the illusion burst.

Her fingers squeezed his slightly and then she looked him in the eyes seriously. "We need each other, Babe. And for now, that's all we need."


	41. Chapter 41

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 41

_A/N: Hello all! This is just a little thank you to all of you who reviewed last chapter. I seem to be having trouble recalling which reviews I've responded to and/or not. So thanks to you all again for your die hard interest. It truly means a lot that you're still following this crazy ride. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Two days later, Remy let out a scream from the kitchen that made House's heart stop dead in his chest. Dropping the laundry basket he was carrying, he limped faster than he thought he ever could to find her standing in front of the sink holding her hand in a blood soaked towel.

"What the hell happened?" His heartbeat pounded in his ears, adrenaline coursing through him as his mind went to all scenarios, each worse that the last. He had never heard her make a sound like that before and he knew immediately that something was terribly wrong.

"I dropped a glass," she said, her face covered in streaming tears.

"Let me see," he demanded gently, taking her covered hand in his. Relief began to flood over him as he realized that it was indeed only her hand and not something way more life threatening. However, that still didn't mean she wasn't seriously hurt.

Carefully, he unwrapped the towel from her palm. The wound was about two inches long across the upper pads of her hand under her first two fingers. And it was deep. The blood pooled and ran down her wrist even as he held her hand above her heart to inspect the damage.

"We need to go to the hospital," he told her, knowing immediately this was no simple cut.

"No, Babe, please, I don't want to go," she cried, trying to dry her tears with her other hand. "I'm fine."

"You are not fine," he argued forcefully. She winced and instinctively tried to pull away when he spread the gash open with his fingers and looked in. He saw little coagulations of golden adipose tissue forming and knew straight away that she had cut down past the subcutaneous layer and into the muscle. She may have some nerve or tendon damage. "We're going."

Biting her lip against the pain, she took in a shuddering breath and nodded her head. She knew how bad it was, she was just being stubborn.

Once they arrived at the ER, his clout of being Dr. Gregory House, _asshole extraordinaire_, served them well and she was seen right away. Chase came down to treat her himself as soon as House had texted him they were there. If there was anyone he trusted more to perform a surgery if need be, it was Chase.

"We'll see when the x-rays come back, but it looks like you've missed all vital tendons and nerves," the Australian told her. He smiled hopefully at her but when he brought his eyes to House, they reflected the same thing in House's own mind. He flicked a glance to the outside curtain area, telling him to meet outside, and then looked back at her. "I'm just going to give you a few shots of Lidicane and some pain meds. We'll let them take effect while I go check on the films."

House ran his hand over her head and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Just rest for a minute and I'll be right back."

"If you two are going to talk about me, I'd appreciate it if you'd include me in the differential," she murmured with a wane smile. She was no dummy, even when she was upset. That was for sure.

House nodded and cast a glance at Chase, giving him the go ahead. "What were you doing when you cut yourself?" He began to administer the medicine while he spoke.

"Washing dishes," she told him.

"And you dropped the glass?" he prompted.

"I don't really know what happened," she began, her brow furrowing in frustration as she tried to remember. "I was looking out the window, and I don't know if I banged the glass on something or if it just broke in my hand, but I definitely dropped it when I felt it cut me."

"Did your hand shake or clench around the glass?" House urged her, wanting definitive answers.

"An involuntary muscle spasm might have caused you to clutch the glass and not be able to let go until it broke," Chase suggested.

Remy looked at House, her eyes beginning to tear again. She had evidently surmised the same thing. She was worried her body was beginning to betray her. "I don't know." The desperation in her voice broke House's heart.

Chase glanced at House and sighed. "We should really call Foreman down here to run an MRI and do some of the nerve degeneration tests to get a baseline."

House nodded at him giving his approval. The younger doctor gave her something for the pain and then was gone in a flash presumably to go find their colleague. Sighing heavily, House grabbed the metal stool with his cane and dragged it over. He sat down and held onto her free hand, brushing his other over her forehead. She looked so pale and weak. But he knew she was just tired and overwhelmed. And most certainly scared.

"What if it's…" she began but he cut her off.

"Shh, let's just run the tests and see where we stand, ok?" he replied. "We won't know anything until then so there's no sense in getting worried for nothing."

"But I tripped over my own shoe and now this," she lamented sadly. "Within two days of each other. There are no coincidences, you've said that a hundred million times before."

House closed his eyes. "I know."

She was right. He didn't believe in coincidences. Except now he wished that he did.

Suddenly, a loud commotion came from outside of the curtained area. He heard voices, one demanding entrance and another trying in vain to stop the cyclone.

J. Terrance.

House should have known.

The curtain swung open with a dramatic flourish as the fanciful little wedding planner barged in.

"Oh my darling princess! What on earth has happened to you?" he gushed as he hurried to be by her side.

The nurse took one look at House and blubbered a stream of apologies. "Dr. House, I am so sorry. Really, we tried to keep him in the waiting room. But he just…"

House frowned at the woman, and knew it really wasn't her fault. got his way if he had to bribe, cajole or purple glittered bulldoze his way through. _Hmm, vaguely like someone else he knew_… _just without the glitter_.

"It's fine," he squinted at the tiny name on her security badge, "Judy. Don't worry about it."

The thin woman narrowed her eyes speculatively at him as if he had just sprouted two heads. He was being nice, and accommodating, which was definitely out of his character so he had to make due on his reputation. "Take your hot little, albeit incompetent, ass out and go find me some coffee. Cream two sugars."

She made a disgruntled face and shook her head, satisfied that all was indeed right with the world. He huffed in amused satisfaction knowing she had no intention at all of actually bringing him the coffee.

J. Terrance pulled back from his bone-crushing embrace and then let out a horrified gasp. "Oh Hello Kitty, who pulled a Central Park Slasher on your hand? OMG," he covered his mouth with both hands and looked away. "I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. That is the vilest thing I've ever seen. I might faint."

Turning his attention back to their impromptu guest, House looked at the little man who was turning every shade of green. "So stop looking at it," he barked. "If you're gonna be a pansy ass, you're gonna have to get out of here."

J. Terrance rolled his eyes at him and perched himself on the edge of the bed, avoiding the wounded hand raised up on the tray table waiting to be sutured. "If you think I'm leaving my damsel in distress, you have got another thing coming. So you can just back the truck up, Cranky Hank."

"And how exactly did you know to come here?" House inquired with practiced patience.

J. Terrance looked at him and tutted like a mother hen. "Darling, you so underestimate my skills," he replied. "I have a little red light that goes off when you two need my superpowers."

"You better not have cameras in our house," House threatened him. "Because if I find out your posting our sex life on YouTube without giving me any of the profits, I might have to hide your body parts all over the tri-state area, you little stalker."

"Could you two shut up and just let me bleed in peace," she groaned tiredly from the nice, ever so pleasant, medication she was on. _God, what he would give to palm a mouthful of Vicodin down his own throat right now_. It had nothing to do with the pain in his leg and everything to do with the pain in his heart.

A few moments later Chase returned with Foreman and Taub in tow.

J. Terrance stood up at attention looking the trio over with unbridled appreciation. "Ooo, who invited sexy doctor boy band? I think I'm having heart palpitations. Jump start me, stat!"

"J.T. these are my friends," Remy chuckled lightly, pointing each one out as she introduced them. "Chase, you met last weekend at the cake shop, and that's Taub and Foreman."

House noticed her give Foreman an apologetic smile and the neurologist set his jaw firmly, nodding in indifference. House knew better though. He may give off the appearance of being unfeeling, but the residual fist imprint on his jaw still twinged with the reminder of just how much Foreman was capable of feeling.

"Guys, this is J. Terrance Fleming. He's our wedding planner," she finished.

J. Terrance fluffed his imaginary feathers and stuck his hand out, eagerly shaking the doctors' hands in greeting.

"X-Rays are back," Chase held up the large film to the light and House moved over to check them out.

"I want to read it," Remy said trying to sit up.

Ignoring her, House took the panel from Chase and turned his back to her to read the image. "You missed all of the flexor tendons and synovial sheaths," he told her. "The worst of it is the probably the lumbrical muscles."

"Ooo my, he's so sexy when he speaks doctor," J. Terrance cooed. "No wonder you jumped your boss's wrinkled, crooked ass."

Lowering the film, House narrowed his eyes at the shit-stirring loudmouth. "You're not helping."

J. Terrance mimicked throwing away the key and crossed his fingers primly over his knee as he returned to his place next to her.

"So no surgeon," Remy sighed with relief.

Chase smiled. "Nope just me."

"Well, you Malibu Ken, need to be sure that she doesn't have any of those spindly spider leg stitches hanging out all over the place," the wedding planner ordered. "She has a gossamer white wedding dress she's sporting in a few short weeks. I don't want her looking like the bride of Frankenstein, even though truthfully she is."

Foreman actually cracked a smile as House rolled his eyes.

"If you'd like, I can stitch you up and you won't even be able to tell you cut yourself once it heals," Taub offered with his hands proudly on his hips.

Chase held out his hand, deferring to the plastic surgeon. "Taub will stitch you up then," he said with a smile.

"Once he's done, we're going to take you for an MRI and PET Scan," Foreman interjected, finally addressing her for the first time. "Afterwards, we'll do a nerve degeneration sequence to test your fine motor skills."

J. Terrance glanced at House with trepidation. "Why on earth would Love Button need those fancy tests?"

Remy slid her eyes to House and pleaded with him silently to handle the situation. She was in no state to have to explain to the overly excitable man how she was dying sooner than that rest of them.

House tilted his head at J. Terrance. "Hey Liberace, you and me are gonna go steal some food from the cafeteria. I've missed their double Oreo chocolate cake."

J. Terrance slipped off the bed, hesitating slightly. He placed a sweet and gentle kiss on Remy's forehead. House smiled at the growing reverence this man had for her. In the few short weeks they had known him, he had immersed himself in their lives so fully that it would seem a little less sparkly once their wedding was over and he was gone.

Bending down, House kissed her sweetly on the lips. His nearness made her cry again, overwhelmed with the narcotic and the daunting fear of the unknown. He touched his the backs of his knuckles to her cheek and she grabbed onto his wrist, holding him there. "You don't have to cry. I won't let him steal Cuddy's tranny showgirl outfit and parade around the hospital," he joked, the quip having the effect he wanted as it made her smile.

She pressed her hand to the side of his face. "I love you."

Taking her hand in his, he kissed the soft skin of her palm. "I love you, too. Let them do their job."

She nodded in acceptance and he turned to leave. Foreman looked at him, unguarded understanding in his dark eyes. He knew better than anyone what it meant to be in love with her and know what she was facing.

Before either one could say anything, House left the curtained area and found J. Terrance. The two went to the cafeteria and House quickly found that he couldn't really stomach anything more than coffee.

He chose his favorite booth away from the other scattered patrons and waited for J. Terrance to sit across from him.

"So Dr. Kildare, what gives with the light of my life," J. Terrance demanded as soon as he was situated.

"She's the light of my life, BT-dubs, and…" House took a breath not really comfortable talking about this with him. "And she's dying."

J. Terrance covered his mouth with both of his hands on a gasp of shock and dismay. The tears immediately came. "I don't understand. It's just a big gross cut. How can she be dying?"

House shook his head. "No. The cut is insignificant. Well, it could be a little more than insignificant depending on what the tests…" He stopped himself and sighed because he had no idea why it was so difficult to explain to the little man what was going on. He took a breath, and went on. "She has a disease called Huntington's chorea. It's degenerative and there is no cure."

"No," the usually happy man genuinely lamented despondently. "Oh my God… How long does she have?"

"Ten, fifteen years, " House said and then looked at his hands. "Maybe two…"

"What? Why?" J. Terrance demanded.

"It's difficult to determine when the symptoms will begin to show," he explained. "Once they do, she could deteriorate very fast or live with only minor issues for quite a while before it gets really bad."

"How can she die from it? I mean what does it do?"

"It's a little like MS and Parkinson's. She'll have tremors, uncontrollable body movements. She won't be able to walk or think properly. Eventually, she'll need fulltime care because she won't be able to eat without a feeding tube."

"That's awful, Greg," J. Terrance said looking at him imploringly. "There's nothing that can be done?"

"No," he said.

"I just can't believe it," he said in astonishment. House had never seen him so subdued, so plain vanilla. It was a little frightening.

"Well, believe it, because right now they're doing tests on her to see if her symptoms have started," House told him.

"And if they have?"

"Then we do what we have to do," House said.

It was really all they could do.


	42. Chapter 42

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 42

_A/N: Well, boys and girls... we're getting close to wrapping this thing up. I know, i know... sometimes i feel like it could go on as episodic like the series but alas, all good things must come to an end. We have a few chapters to go, not really sure exactly as i haven't written them yet. But I assure you , I am sad to see it end. I have loved this story from start to finish._

_And once again I am remiss in responding to my reviews... I don't know where the time is going! I swear a week went by in a flash. So thank you again. You're words of kindness inspire me.  
_

_Disclaimer: To all who own House, i borrow your greatness and make it mine. _

* * *

Remy lay still as stone in the MRI tube listening to the clicks and whirls of the giant magnets circling around her. She had done this a hundred thousand times before only she was the one sitting behind the booth not the one trapped in the giant medical diagnostic coffin. It felt foreign, surreal. Like it wasn't really happening to her. Only it was.

She was so scared.

Her life for the past six months had been the best she could have ever hoped it to be. She had truly fallen in love, deeply and passionately, for the first time in her life. She felt it with her whole soul. Never in her life would she have imagined it to be such an amazing experience. She wouldn't have changed one minute of it. Not one second.

But she was dying and things would change. They both knew it. Even from the beginning. They knew she was on borrowed time and they threw caution to the wind and fell deeper and deeper in love, ignoring the truth of her existence. Throughout their time together, she had watched him change and grow because of it. He had become such an amazing person, open and free. Loving and caring. Gentle and kind. Of course, he was still House. He always would be. That's what she loved most about him. His dry sarcasm, his extreme intelligence and his incessant desire to always know more. She would be forever grateful that she had a chance to experience that private side of him. That side that was human and vulnerable. The side that she loved more than anything else.

She worried though that he would be crushed when she was gone. That everything he gained since opening up to her would be lost. That he would slide into a despair that he couldn't get out of. He was a drug addict and had demons in his own past that still lurked under the surface just barely out of the way enough for him to function like a regular human being. He could very rarely handle change even when it came on slowly and she worried that he would slip into his old ways because he couldn't handle the pain of losing her. She didn't want that for him, he had come so far.

The heaviness that had settled in her chest ached so acutely. Life wasn't fair. It was a cruel bitch, setting you up for the fall. It made her so angry. It was seemingly random, but Remy knew better. Bad things happened to good people because somewhere deep down Life knew they weren't all good. It was as if she and House had so much to pay for that they were given a glimpse of what it was like to be normal, only to have it ripped away as some kind of penance.

So many times she blamed her mother for her terrible angry childhood, wondering what she had done to deserve the treatment she got. So many times had she lashed out and rebelled because of the resentment that she couldn't live a normal life. She had struggled so hard to live like everyone else, to just be happy. And now she blamed her mother again for taking her normal, happy life away from her once she finally achieved it.

How could her mother have not known about her genetic make up? One of her parents had to have died from this awful disease. It wasn't like she couldn't have been aware. The medical community had discovered Huntington's genetic inheritance back in the eighteen hundreds. They clearly knew what it was and how it was passed along. It wasn't until the mid-nineties when they discovered the actual gene mutation.

But, it was as if Anne Hadley had ignored her condition, denied what she was and carelessly had a child despite it. And now Remy suffered because of that selfish decision. She had suffered while she watched her mother die and now she was dying too. She would never play Russian roulette and knowingly bring a child into this without the genetic screening. It may not have available to her mother then, but she should have made the choice to not have a child. Remy should have never been born.

Damn that woman. Damn her for ruining her life. Damn her for taking her away from the man she loved. Damn her for ruining him again, too. _Damn, damn, damn her_.

Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes and wet the sides of her face as they absorbed into her hair. She sniffed and blinked rapidly to stop them but they kept coming unabated in her sorrow.

"Remy, please try and stay still," Foreman's voice came over the speaker.

"I'm sorry," she said weakly. She didn't really have the will to fight anymore. She was so drained.

"We're almost done."

She swallowed down her fear and waited a few more minutes for the machine to come to a stop. Foreman came into the room and pushed the button to slide her out of the machine. She took his proffered hand and allowed him to help her down from the table.

She was suddenly struck by how much his skin felt unfamiliar to her now. It was dry and warm, a little calloused. She had never noticed before. In all the times he had touched her intimately, she had never realized how strange his hands felt to her. It was like they didn't belong together. It was as if they were two people who never should have bonded. Maybe it was out of necessity and commiseration for common ground. Maybe it was boredom. But one thing Remy knew now, it was never love. Not for her. She felt terrible for hurting him, but he had hurt her too. He had wounded her pride and made her feel like second place. In her book, you don't do that to people you care about.

On the same token, from the very minute House had crossed the boundaries into an intimate personal connection to her, he had never made her feel like she was anything less than his number one priority. It was a shocking revelation. The man who was so selfish he couldn't get out of his own way was the one to have treated her with the most undying reverence. He cherished her. With Foreman, she had been just a silent partner.

She looked at her ex-lover sadly now and wished for him to find that special someone he would be able to sacrifice everything for. Everyone deserved that.

"Ready to head to Neurology?" he asked oblivious of the thoughts racing around in her mind.

She smiled ruefully at him. "No, but I suppose I have no choice."

"I'll be right there with you," he reassured her stiffly, as he guided her out of the MRI room and down the hall to another testing site. "I'm the only one running the test. I'm not going anywhere." It was always so awkward when he gave comfort.

She huffed a little laugh and arched an eyebrow at him. "It'll be like a nice bit of revenge getting to make me writhe in pain."

"You know that's not true, right?" he looked at her. "I don't want to cause you pain."

"I never wanted to cause you pain, either," she said honestly. He was quiet for a moment so she continued on. "I'm so sorry you had to find out the way you did. I had no idea it was even coming, let alone play out like that."

He snorted in his typical mild derision. "House always has to be the center of everything. I'm not surprised one bit that it played out the way it did."

"He didn't do it to intentionally rub it in your face, either," she told him.

Now it was his turn to arch a dubious eyebrow at her. "That I find harder to believe."

"I swear," she contended. "The balcony held some very significant memories for him, things he needed to overcome for himself. Asking me to marrying him off of it really had nothing to do with you at all and everything to do with making it ok for him."

"Are you sure you need all that craziness in your life?" he asked her seriously. "He's unhinged and you've got your own stuff to deal with." He gestured for her to get onto the table.

"You're wrong, Eric," she told him as she hopped up, the protective paper crinkling loudly under her bottom. "He's not like that anymore. He's changed."

He paused for a beat, his dark eyes searching her, almost imploring her. "Is he good to you?"

She smiled then. "Yes. He loves me, really honestly loves me."

"I never thought the man was capable of loving anyone, not even himself." He shook his head and let out a self-deprecating laugh. "I hate him… but even I can see how much he loves you. It's admittedly freaky, but I can see it."

"I've never felt this way before," she shook her head. "I've never loved anyone like I love him."

"Now you're the one who's talking crazy," he said wheeling the cart with the small machine on it.

Stretching her legs out, she lay back against the small pillow and took a deep breath. He was about to administer a very painful nerve conduction test and part of her was terribly nervous because she knew what was coming. She'd also been on the other side of this fence before and it was a million times more comfortable over there as the doctor instead of the patient. She knew the pain of having intermittent electrical impulses sent up her legs and arms was almost too much to bear.

"Ok, I'm going to start," he informed her.

She took his hand and squeezed it using his cool demeanor as an anchor. "Thank you for being here."

"You'd do the same for me."

* * *

House sat on the bench at the end of the hallway outside of his old office. He used to rest there sometimes after he had made repeated laps of the floor when his leg would really hurt him. It was remarkably quiet this time of night but it gave him a good vantage point to just watch the goings on. Now he was here to calm his mind and see if he felt any of the old pull to go back in and diagnose.

It was strange. He didn't feel like he belonged there anymore. The air felt empty and cold. The glass halls and the marble floors seemed sterile. It had none of the allure it once had. In all honesty, it hadn't felt like that since before Mayfield. Even before his dive into insanity, he had been phoning in his performance like a bad actor on an even more boring show. He wasn't challenged anymore. Truth be told, if he really asked himself, maybe it went all the way back to when Amber died.

After his infarction and his failed relationship with Stacy, he used to think that the only thing he had left was his mind. The Vicodin kept the pain at bay and it dulled out the rest of the noise in his head. The only thing that he needed to sustain him was the quest for the diagnosis, the mystery of the puzzle. He was good at it. It served him well. All of that came to a head though when he couldn't remember that Amber was the one on the bus. Since then, the pursuit of the truth had ever so slowly begun to lose its mystique.

When he had come back from Mayfield last fall, he knew there was a part of him that could so easily return to his old ways. He knew that there was a weakness in him that allowed the darkness to settle in and take hold. When he couldn't seem to stay away from the mystery of the diagnosis, he had clandestinely sought it out and Nolan surmised that what he needed was to be back. Maybe that had been the case. Maybe it was what he needed at that time. That was until he became involved with Remy.

Since he began a relationship with her, the desire to always be right, always find the answers, always know the truth had seriously tarnished in its appeal. He no longer cared whether he sought the truth. He no longer felt like he was missing something if he didn't have an answer. He felt settled, at peace with his life. He could say he was happy with a straight face and mean it.

Did he get bored? Sure, but he was always able to find something to occupy his mind. Did they fight? Hell yes, and then they'd make up and everything would be fine, no resentments, no harbored feelings of mistrust or betrayal. They simply loved each other and moved on. Maybe that came from their deep trust in each other or maybe it came from the knowledge that she didn't have time to waste with inconsequential sensitivities and useless hurt. The bigger things in life were more important now. Home, family, time…

Looking up, he could hear the familiar click clack of her heels as she made her way down the hall. Cuddy. It was a sound that was indelibly marked in his brain, repetitive like a machine gun report that echoed off buildings. Her gait, always purposeful and continuously hurried. She was always on a mission, going somewhere urgently or coming from someplace of consequence. It used to make him cringe. And then for a while his heart used to squeeze in his chest in anticipation. But now it only amused him. He had wondered when she was going to get word that he was in her domain. He had clocked in an hour and thirty minutes in her space and she'd only just come to find him. He had thought for sure she would have poked her head in while they were in the ER. But nevertheless, there she was.

Her pace slowed as she saw him on the bench. She approached him quietly as if she didn't want to intrude on his space. When he gestured for her to sit beside him, she did, folding her thin hands in her lap. She had on a sleeveless beige linen dress belted with a thin strip of red patent leather at her waist that matched the strappy red shoes she wore. She always did look so put together. It was something she prided herself on. He wouldn't begrudge her that, even though he used to mock her for it, she was a beautiful woman, why not flaunt her assets.

"I heard what happened," she told him. "They said she needed twelve stitches."

"Yeah," he nodded. "Taub did them."

"Foreman's testing her in Neurology?"

He nodded again this time unable to keep his concern out of his eyes.

"I'm so sorry House."

"It may be nothing, just pre-wedding stress."

"Well, I'd be stressed if I was about to marry you," she joked lightly.

He smiled. "You'd be so worried about your performance on the wedding night that you'd be sweating like a whore in church."

They shared a laugh at their old banter and then both grew quiet, just sitting there in the dim hall, each looking at nothing in particular.

"You're not coming back are you?"

House shook his head. "No. Even if the tests come back negative. I don't want to waste another day."

She looked at him, her eyes genuine. "Go travel the world, spend time together, make love on romantic beaches. Be happy, House."

He smiled, this time it reached all the way to his eyes. "Yep, that's the idea."

"I will miss you," she told him.

"We'll be here…" he said and then shook his head knowing they'd never purposely get together.

She smiled wryly at him knowing the same thing. It just wasn't something they did.

She leaned forward and took his face in her hands. She pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek and then rose. Her eyes misted over and she sniffed elegantly, keeping her smile on so she wouldn't cry. "Goodbye, House."

"Goodbye, Cuddy."

House sat for a while longer before Foreman paged him that Remy was done. He made his way down to meet them in the Radiology viewing room they so often used to look at scans of their patients. It was a little surreal seeing the film of his future wife's brain up on the light boxes.

As soon as he entered the room, she came to his side and held onto him tightly. He hugged her to his chest and placed a kiss on her hair. Taub and Chase soon joined them as they all studied the scans.

"I see no significant atrophy of the caudate nuclei or the basal ganglia of the cerebral cortex," Foreman stated, pointing to the regions on the scan. "These were the tests done prior to the drug trial last year. They give us a baseline to go on and there's still no degeneration present in the new scans."

House looked at the grey matter in the films. He was no neurologist but he knew his way around the brain pretty well. He could clearly see what Foreman was talking about. If there was no atrophy, no black spots, which could be present in the brain even before the onset of motor symptoms. It meant that the disease hadn't begun yet and wasn't close to beginning for a while.

A wave of elation came over him and he squeezed Remy tightly to him. She began to cry out of sheer relief. He ran his hand over her hair and whispered into her ear. "I love you, so much."

She just cried into his chest because she was speechless.

"You're gonna be fine," Foreman said with a smile. "At least for a while."

She pulled away and wiped at the tears in her eyes. Each of their friends took their turn hugging her, giving their well wishes. She finally reached Foreman and House watched the large man wrap her in his arms tightly. He whispered something to her and it made her laugh against his shoulder. The musical sound of her happiness floated in the air and it settled contentedly in House's chest. He felt like he had just gotten the best news of his life. Nothing could take away his happiness.

The new diagnostic dream team, his legacy until such a time he ever needed to come back, left them in the lab so they could have a private moment together. He immediately folded her in his arms and rested his face on her cheek.

"I told Cuddy we're not coming back to the hospital."

"Are you one hundred percent sure that's what you want to do?" she asked him, her eyes wide with emotion.

"Yes," he replied fervently.

"What are we going to do instead?"

His hands came up her back to her shoulders where he brushed the length of her hair over his knuckles and just stared into her crystal blue eyes. "We are going to get married in two weeks and then fly to Tuscany for our extended honeymoon."

"Really?" she looked up at him with a watery smile. "You planned this on your own?"

"Oh please, I made J. Terrance do the work," he shrugged. "We have an old farmhouse that we're going to stay in for an entire month."

"Oh my God," she gasped.

"You can just call me, Greg," he joked and then kissed her nose. "And then after that we'll come back for a couple of weeks to recoup and repack and then we'll fly off to Fiji because I'm simply just curious about what all the fuss is about."

"Fiji? For real?" she laughed in astonishment.

"Yup," he nodded. "And then after two weeks in paradise, we're coming back. And we're going to buy a house and make a home that we can come back to in-between pit stops on our world travels. Because I seriously need a place to put my piano. I miss it."

She laughed merrily into his chest. "You have most definitely thought this all through."

He inhaled a breath and nodded his head. "Yeah, I've been thinking about this for a while. I just needed to be sure that all of me was on the same page."

"Well, I'm definitely on your page," she told him and then kissed him fiercely.

"I should hope so," he made a comical face making her laugh once more.

"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you," she told him, becoming teary eyed again. "For however long that is."

"We'll have enough time," he said touching her face gently. "Well do everything you want to do so you can leave feeling like you've done it all."

"As long as I'm with you, I'll be happy no matter what we do."

"Me too."

Finally, that was the only truth he needed.


	43. Chapter 43

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 43

Remy looked at her reflection in the large antique oval mirror on the dressing table in her room. Her hair was artfully done up in a twist at the back of her head. The stylist had done a loose chignon with little tendrils expertly placed to look haphazard like she had thrown her hair up in a bun in her mad rush to get married. It took almost forty-five minutes for that windswept look but she liked it. It made her smile.

She blinked her eyes and plucked at an errant eyelash that was glued to the top lid with her mascara. She looked closely into the mirror and smiled broadly. Her make-up was also flawless. The artist that J. Terrance had shipped in from Manhattan, Remy didn't even want to contemplate the fee for that, had airbrushed on her foundation. It was so whisper thin, her skin could breathe while covering every little blemish and bump. It even smoothed out the scar she had on her cheek from when she fell of her bike in first grade. The silkiness made her face look like it was sculpted from porcelain. Her eyes were done in smoky grays with a touch of purple for drama and her lips were a blush pink, just enough color to add shimmer but nothing too overpowering, which was good because House hated when she wore lipstick.

Remy felt so incredibly beautiful. It was like she was looking at herself through a dream.

Picking up her earring, she looped the hook through her hole and let the tiered diamond teardrops dangle elegantly, catching a bit of the sunlight coming in through the window. She added the other one and then twisted her head a little to let them sway like delicate baubles from her earlobes.

J. Terrance had advised against a necklace saying that the tastefully larger pendant earrings would be enough and that the dress would stand on its own without the extra adornment. He had been right about everything else so far, so she didn't bother to pick out a necklace when she had gone shopping.

That done, she had perfume left before she put on her dress. She spritzed a few times along the column of her neck and down the cleavage exposed by her strapless bra and gave herself a little shake to get the boobs into place. She wrinkled her nose in a girlish giggle in anticipation of him putting his nose there to smell the perfume on her skin as he made love to her for the first time as her husband.

A shiver of excitement ran through her and she had to blink a few times to force herself not to cry. She had been a little dewy-eyed since she woke up this morning because she couldn't believe it was finally the day. They were getting married. Full fledged, walk down the aisle in front of God and everyone, getting married. It was scary as shit, but holy crap, so very exciting.

"Oh look at you, you sexy kitten," J. Terrance gushed as he snuck in through the door making sure that no one was able to peek in and steal a glimpse of the bride before she walked down the aisle. "_Don't just stand there, Let's get to it, Strike a pose, There's nothing to it…Vogue, Vogue, Vogue_…" he trailed off in a Madonna whisper and two snaps in the air.

Remy chuckled and stuck a pose with her hands on her lace pantied hips. She had on a white lace garter belt over her g-string and a pair of sheer-cream silk stockings, which would no doubt be a supreme hit later. Between this get up and the perfume, he was definitely a sure thing.

"I'm thinking you better bring a stethoscope, 'cause da-yumn gurrrlll, you gonna give the old man a heart-o-tack!" He fluttered his hand over his face as he flushed.

J. Terrance was in his Sunday best, dressed to the nines in a sophisticated gray Calvin Klein tuxedo with a matching high-buttoned vest and tie. He looked streamlined and elegant as only J. Terrance could.

"So how are we doing my Effervescent Princess?" he asked coming over to her to inspect the artistry. "You look positively radiant."

Remy smiled. "Thank you."

"Nervous?" he asked with a knowing eye.

"A little," she admitted.

"I have some peppermint schnapps if you want," he offered from a flask inside his coat. "You'll smell like toothpaste."

Remy considered this for a moment and then shook her head. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? He's already had three shots," he laughed.

Remy's eyes got big as she stared at him. "Is he ok?"

"He's fine," he chuckled and then waved his hand before placing it on his hip like Katherine Hepburn. "Darling, he's older than dirt and this is his first trip down the aisle. It should have been like his fourth, but who's counting. He's just a little squeamish. It's to be expected."

Remy got worried. "Are you sure, he's ok?"

"Yes, Kitten, he's just dandy," he said turning her by the shoulders in the direction of her gown which was hanging but a silk hanger over the closet door. "Let's get you into that heart stopping dress."

"J. Terrance," Remy turned to look at him. "Can I have a shot?"

He eyed her speculatively.

She brought her fingers up to show just an inch. They shook a little involuntarily. "Just a sip."

He removed the flask from his coat pocket and took of the cap, handing it to her. "Just a little swish around the gums, prevents gingivitis and pre-wedding jitters."

Remy took the flask from him and swigged from the opening. She let the peppermint liquid still over her tongue for a moment and she was immediately transported back to the balcony on Christmas Eve when House first kissed her. She had been eating a candy cane and they had both been drinking her eggnog. He tasted like peppermint and liquor and that very moment was the start of their whole life together. And what a life it promised to be. She let the smooth liquid float down her throat on a sigh, content in the feeling that this was exactly the path her life was supposed to take. She handed the flask back to J. Terrance and smiled. "We're all good."

"Good, Cinderella, because it's time to get that ball gown on, and head for the ball," he said taking the dress from its perch. He slipped the satin loops off of the hanger and unzipped the back to hold open for her.

Steadying herself, she paced her hands on his shoulders and carefully stepped into the dress. She turned around and held the bodice over her chest so that he could zip her in. The silk fabric felt cool against her skin but soon warmed with her body heat to a soft and comforting glow. She felt fantastic in her dress. It was all so magical and every ounce the fairytale it should have been.

Once she was fully encased in her gown, she turned around and held her arms out for inspection. J. Terrance smiled like a doting mother and wiped a tear from his eye. "You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen."

Remy laughed self-consciously. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"I do," he admitted and then winked at her. "But with you, my darling girl, I truly mean it."

She moved to the sofa and slipped on her shoes adding a good few inches to her height. She would almost be face to face with him as they said their vows, her lips mere inches from his. How perfect.

There was a soft knock at the door and J. Terrance rushed over to answer it. "Who is it?" he asked in his Mrs. Doubtfire voice.

"It is Blythe, dear," Remy's future mother-in-law called.

"Oh let her in," Remy told him.

J. Terrance opened the door just enough to allow House's mother through and then quickly shut it.

Blythe came into the room looking every inch the elegant Southern woman she was. She had on a champagne colored two-piece gown. The skirt was made of a fluttery chiffon and the top was a tailored silk crepe jacket with beading in a tasteful floral pattern near the hem with satin trim. The jacket tied sweetly together with a satin bow. She looked chic and graceful, as every mother of the groom should.

Remy smiled adoringly at her as she came to give her a wonderful hug. When she pulled back, the older woman took Remy's hands in hers and held her arms out to the side. "My dear, you look positively exquisite. I am so, so happy for you."

Remy began to tear up and brought her fingers under her nose to keep the waterworks at bay. J. Terrance rushed over with a handkerchief. "Oh no, no, no! There will be none of that! Mama House you back away, we can't have this flawless face marred with running mascara like she was a gin-soaked whore!"

"I'm so sorry dear, I didn't mean to make you cry," she said, blotting her own dewy eyes.

Remy laughed. "It's ok. I am just so happy," she choked on a sob as J. Terrance fanned her face with another tissue. Remy held out her hand and the older woman clasped her fingers with her warm ones. "I love you," she told her.

"And I love you, like you were my own daughter," Blythe said.

"Ok, JT, hit me with another shot," Remy ordered as she blinked her eyes rapidly.

He handed her the flask and she took a healthy gulp. Shaking off the shiver as the liquid burned its way down her esophagus, she took a deep breath to calm herself. She looked at Blythe. "Have you seen him? Is he all right?"

"No I haven't been to see him yet," she told her. "I'm going there next. But I'm sure he is perfectly fine, dear, don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

"See I told you," J. Terrance echoed and then shoved a hand full of tissues into her bra.

Remy scoffed indignantly, ripping the Kleenex out. "What is with you and my boobs? I don't need tissues to pad my bra on my wedding day."

"They're for if you feel like you're going to cry again," he rolled his eyes, folding the tissues and stuffing them back in more discreetly.

"Oh, " she said with an apologetic smile. "Good idea."

"And we'll stuff some in your bouquet as well," he added and then pulled a walkie-talkie out of nowhere. "Dottie, Come in. We're ready for the flowers, Over."

"_Excellent_," squawked the radio, "_Be up in a jiffy. Oh yeah, Over_." There was a girlish giggle from the other side and then the static went dead.

"You really are too much," Remy laughed. "And I love you too." She held out her arms to give the little man a hug. He came easily into her embrace and squeezed her tightly, zigzagging her back and forth in a happy, happy dance.

"I love you too, Bubbles."

She had grown so attached to him over the last few weeks that there was no way she was going to let this tiny little man out of her life once this wedding was over. He had become such an important part of both hers and House's life that they were sure to stay connected personally when they came back from their honeymoon. It just simply had to be.

"Ok, you sit tight," J. Terrance told her releasing her as he stepped away. "I must go check on the gents, refill my magic potion bottle." He wiggled the silver flask at her. "And I'll send word to Dottie when it's time."

Remy practically vibrated with excitement and looked at Blythe with doting eyes.

"You're cousin is here, she's just getting the kids settled and said she will be up in a minute," Blythe told her. "I won't leave you until then."

Remy nodded and then looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Everything was exactly as she had dreamed it would be, only better. Every little girl, fantasizing of being a princess someday, should be able to experience the love and affection she felt from her growing family. She had a partner who cherished and loved her without exception, a mother-in-law who accepted her like a daughter and friends that she could live, laugh and love with. What more could a girl want?

Nothing really. She loved them all and would enjoy it for as long as she could. That was all she could really ask for.

Dottie entered the room then with a box that held her bouquet. The young woman, with the big bright eyes smiled adoringly at her as she took in the sight of Remy in her dress. Remy had meet both Dottie and Eileen a few times since House had booked the bed and breakfast for their wedding and had grown to like the two women very much. They were both so warm and inviting and it was easy to see the love between them.

With her arrival, Blythe slipped out to go see her son off before the nuptials.

"You look like a princess on a cloud, " Dottie told her as she came over to give her a tight hug.

"Thank you," Remy said graciously.

"He's going to faint when he sees you."

"I hope not," Remy laughed. "Having to catch his breath would be enough."

"Oh that's for sure," the young brunette assured her and then moved to the box with the flowers. She pulled out a large bouquet of butter yellow peonies and roses against powder blue hydrangeas tightly wrapped into a full spray of luscious blooms with a blue silk ribbon. Remy hadn't seen the flowers House had picked. It was yet another excursion he had embarked on with J. Terrance in his zeal for the wedding planning. But as with everything else, he had done a fantastic job. Her favorite pale yellow, mixed with his favorite blue, the flowers symbolic of their union. They were absolutely beautiful.

Remy's cousin Jane entered, in just the knick of time as Dottie's radio squawked to life. "_Mission wedding is underway. Go for launch. Over._"

"Roger Dodger," Dottie said into the receiver. "Ready?"

Remy nodded. "Ready."

* * *

House couldn't breathe. It was really more the tie around his starched collar than the fact that he might throw up in two seconds if J. Terrance didn't stop making him dizzy, flitting around him like a gnat in a gray tuxedo. House was tense, he was nervous and he was ready to poke the pretty little man's eye out with the tip of his silver newled cane if he didn't go away. He nipped and tucked, tugged and shifted every little corner of House's shirt, vest, tie and pants. And if he hovered around his zipper one more time, he was going to knock him out. Finally, House slapped at the little man's hand and he retreated away to inspect the boutonnieres that Eileen had delivered just moments ago.

House had never liked dressing in these monkey suits. Because he felt like one of those little chimpanzees with the cymbals, playing for money. They were just so ungodly uncomfortable, stiff and pressed to within an inch of their life. He had briefly contemplated wearing his black Chuck Taylor's with the tux, with the excuse that it would make his leg last for the entire day, but Wilson had beat him to the punch and supplied him with Tramadol to help with the emerging pain. So he swallowed down one and put on his shiny patent leather, box-toed shoes like a good soldier. He bent over to tie the ridiculously thin dress laces that made his fingers feel like big useless sausages with no bones. Rolling his eyes, he had to try twice on the left foot because his hands were shaking so much.

Standing up, he adjusted the waistband of his pants and tugged at the sides of his vest. He looked at himself in the long antique mirror and decided that his close-cropped hair was seriously gray. It almost matched the graphite shine of the satin vest material. He was shocked that he looked so old. _God, when did he turn into an old man_? He knew he had just turned fifty-one a few weeks ago but jeez the years had not been kind. But then again it wasn't like he was living the macrobiotic lifestyle either. Vicodin with a bourbon chaser, _or four_, every night for the last ten years was bound to shave off a decade or so and at least strip the hair prematurely of its color. He ran his fingers over a particularly white spot around his temple and then jaw line and grimaced.

"Yup, you're old," Wilson commented coming up behind him and clapping him on the shoulder.

House jumped a bit at his friend's appearance and then rolled his eyes. Now was not the time to get him back for all the terrible things House had said to him over the years. "At least I'm not trying to hide it with _Just for Men, Dark Brown_. You look like Keith Hernandez trying to hold onto the last vestiges of youth.""

"That may be true, but if you could actually see the back of your head, you'd be much more upset," Wilson quipped and pointed to his crown. "Getting a little sparse in the middle. If it weren't for the height and the limp, I'd confuse you with Taub."

House quickly turned around and inspected the top of his head. It wasn't that bad. _Was it?_ He narrowed his eyes and ran his fingers over the spot. Wilson walked away laughing mirthlessly.

"You're an asshole," House grumbled. "It's my wedding day, douche bag. You're supposed to be nice to me."

"Yeah like you were to me at my last two weddings?" Wilson scoffed and ran his hand over his chin. "I think I still have a scar."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault you didn't see there were stairs there," House excused himself.

"That's because we were in dark hallway and you got me blind drunk before we had to be at the hotel the night before," Wilson accused him. "Which you know, I find horribly offensive that you up and got a mysterious stomach virus just mere hours before we were supposed to take you out for your night of trolling like pig before your monumental event of matrimonial bliss."

"He was seriously ill," J. Terrance added. "I can attest to the retching."

"It's just ironic considering how many evenings of sheer Bacchanalian debauchery he's planned that the one night we get to unleash it on him, he's got a tummy ache," Wilson complained, having a seat in the comfortable sofa off to side of the large four-poster mahogany bed.

"You could have dragged me with you, but they tend to frown on leaving puke stains on the naked women."

"They hose off," Wilson disputed with a disinterested shrug.

House raised his eyebrows in amazement. Even J. Terrance wrinkled his nose in disgust over that one. They were both rendered speechless.

"What?" Wilson asked innocently. "What'd I say?"

Just then there was a knock on the door. "Greg honey, it's your mother."

House closed his eyes tight and willed her to go away. He just needed peace and calm right now. When he heard the door open, and her come in, he hung his head on a sigh. So much for his Jedi mind trick.

She approached him with her arms outstretched. "Oh darling, you look so dashing."

She hugged him tightly and then pulled back to run her warm hand over his brow.

"Thanks mom," he said bashfully.

"Oh sweetheart, Remy just looks so lovely," she told him. "She's going to take your breath away."

He smiled a little, knowing just how beautiful his bride was going to be. She was ethereal in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt; he couldn't even imagine how exquisite she would be in a gown tailored to her every curve. His heart sped up a little in his chest and he took a deep breath to settle himself.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "You should be taking your seat."

"I wanted to see you before the ceremony," she said simply. "You'll be so busy afterward, that I won't have a chance to tell you just how proud I am of you."

House lifted the corner of his mouth in a shy smile. His mother was always so proud of him, even when he did nothing at all. This was huge for her. How could it not be? He could barely keep his own faculties straight because it was so epic for him. He could only imagine how excited she was.

"I wanted to give this to you," she dug into her pocket and folded something in his hand.

He opened his fingers and saw a gold coin resting in his palm. Confused, he arched an eyebrow at her. "What is this?"

"It's the coin you gave to your father right before he left for Vietnam and we left Egypt to come home, you were seven," she recalled. Something hitched in House's chest as the memory came flooding back to him. "You told him it was for luck."

He remembered the day they stood on the tarmac. The air was hot and dry and the sun so bright he could hardly focus his eyes. His father had placed his hand on his shoulder and told him to look after his mother because he was the man of the house while the Marine captain was gone. House cleared his throat and looked at his mother. "He kept it?"

She nodded. "All those years he carried it with him every day in his breast pocket," she told him touching her hand to the space over his heart. "He loved you. He would have been proud to see you today."

House took a breath and fought the wave of emotion that was coming over him. Looking at the coin in his hand once again, he never expected his father to keep such a trivial token with him.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Keep it with you, for luck."

House nodded, unable to really say anything. He watched her float out of the door and closed his hand around the coin. He looked over his shoulder. J. Terrance was discreetly helping Wilson pin his boutonniere to his lapel off to the side to give him his privacy.

"Put your jacket on, Sexy Groom to Be," J. Terrance ordered when he'd finished. "We're due downstairs in two shakes."

Snapping to, House moved to his black tuxedo coat and slipped his arms in. He secured his treasure in his left breast pocket underneath the matching pocket square. Patting the pocket closed he checked himself in the mirror once more. He looked good. Like a man ready to marry the girl of his dreams.

J. Terrance came over to him and fussed with his yellow rose boutonniere tied with sprigs of some blue to match her bouquet. He pinned and then repined and then once more. House was getting agitated. "Get it straight and leave it."

"Honey, there ain't nothing I do that's straight," J. Terrance clucked his tongue at him.

He looked down at the flower lined up vertical to the floor. It was fine. "It's good, no more." House slapped at his hand and J. Terrance smacked him back with an indignant look. House brought his fist up and the little man scurried away.

"_We're ready for you_," Eileen's voice came from J. Terrance's walkie-talkie.

"We'll be down pronto," he replied. "Over and Out."

House took a deep breath. Touched his hands to his pockets and turned around to look at Wilson who tapped his knowingly. "It's right here."

His friend came up to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. "How you doing?" he asked in hushed tones.

"I'm going to be fine," he voiced. It was a vow and a reply.

"Yes, you are," Wilson said with a grin. "You need another shot?"

House shook his head. He looked at his hands and then balled them into fists. He had had enough alcoholic courage already.

J. Terrance clapped his hands twice in the air. "Okey dokey, kiddies, on with the show!"


	44. Chapter 44

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 44

_A/N: Ok here goes... It took me a while to get this just right. There are two more chapters (at least i think... I haven't written the last one yet ;) so who knows, but I'm pretty sure that will be it). Get out your tissues...it's the wedding ceremony! Also you;ll find links on my profile page to Remy's dress, her hair and make-up, bouquet, Blythe's dress and one of Hugh in a tux, but i couldn't find a good version of the wedding tux that's close enough to how imagined it so you'll have to imagine just how sexy handsome he looks, which shouldn't be hard girls... House's is a little less on the gray with more texture. But I nitpick on the details..._

_So without further ado... The Wedding!_

* * *

From the gazebo altar, House looked out to the crowd of people who had gathered to see him marry Remy. They were all his family and friends. Some he had known for twenty years, some he had just met yesterday at the rehearsal dinner. Each and every one of them had touched both of their lives in some fashion or another. Every single one meant something to them. He never thought that he would be able to count the people who cared about him on one hand let alone have a gathering that housed thirty-five people. And he had to laugh. Even Cole and Henry, 'Ridiculously Old Fraud', had come. Remy must have slipped their invitations in without him knowing.

House was touched. It moved him that so many people wanted to share this special day with them. He almost didn't believe it but seeing it with his own eyes brought veracity to it. He, who had always needed proof, had all the evidence he needed in one sweeping glance of the white chairs before him. They were all full.

House felt Wilson shift by his side and he glanced at his best friend. He cleaned up nicely in his tux, despite the cutting remarks they had thrown at each other while getting dressed about being old and worn out. The man had been through this three times himself, with House standing by his side for two of them, and now it was his turn. He wondered if it was normal to feel so at peace in this very moment. Sure, he was nervous and a little anxious, but for the most part he was calm. He knew it had nothing to do with the schnapps J. Terrance kept pouring down his throat but rather more the knowledge that this was finally, after all these years, the right step for him.

House loved Remy more ardently than he ever thought he could care for another human being. She was everything to him. Her very nature complemented his in a way that softened the rough edges of his personality and filled in the dark spaces of his mind. She was undoubtedly the single best thing that had happened to him and he couldn't imagine not spending the rest of her life, however long that would be, making her happy. Because he owed her. She had made him, the man who hated people, who couldn't tolerate the boredom of the mundane and who was filled with destructive self-loathing, fall joyously head over heels in love. She had changed him, put a chink in his armor and found his heart buried deep within the ashes. She had soothed his soul. And he was a better man for it.

"How are you holding up?" Wilson asked him covertly.

House turned slightly and nodded, lifting the corner of his mouth into a smile. "I'm good."

Eileen wandered closely around the back of the chairs by the flower garden. He could see her attention peak as J. Terrance approached. They were coming.

House's heart sped up a bit in anticipation of seeing Remy. The air was perfect, the sun lowering on the horizon, casting a golden yellow glow in the early summer sky. They were covered by the canopy of the gazebo along with the tall trees around them. It was quite a sight. The women had done a fantastic job of bringing all of Remy's wedding dreams to life. She had her trellis of roses, garlands of flowers along the edges of everywhere. The only thing she didn't have was a string quartet. But she had one better.

On a whim, House had J. Terrance track down Jim Moskowitz, _aka_ 'Jimmy Quid'. He was the punk rocker with a soul that House had initially fired Remy over, yet had then won back when Cuddy insisted he had to have a woman on his team. They had a history the three of them, a patient she fought valiantly for, holding fast and true that it wasn't the drugs killing him. House's own desire to keep her on the team warring within him as he had to stand in front of her and fire her that day. And the man whose life they had saved because they were willing to look beyond the self-destructive tendencies and the self-loathing, a situation oddly familiar to his own, and see the disease as it ravaged his body. The guitar player was in essence a pillar in the bridge that linked them together.

Now the man sat to the side in a pair of dark blue trousers and a grey shirt playing his acoustic guitar. Evidently it had begun to matter to Quid if people had liked his music. He had grown tired of pissing people off with that noise of metal against metal and had decided it was time to make music that mattered, not just to serve his agenda but for others. The guy was definitely talented. House had never been able to get his fingers to work the strings of a guitar like that. It was melodic genius.

With the strains of soft guitar floating around, Remy appeared at the top of the aisle on her father's arm like a vision from another world. House's breath caught in his chest and his mouth dropped open on a gasp of utter reverence. He might have audibly rushed the air from his lungs, he didn't know. The only thing he was aware of was that she was the most exquisitely beautiful thing he had ever seen. She was so radiant it almost hurt to look at her. His eyes began to well up as his heart squeezed tightly in his chest. He couldn't believe how stunning she was. She simply took his breath away.

Her hair shone shiny and bright with tiny highlights of auburn in the golden sun. Her face radiated warmth and happiness as she laid her gorgeous aqua gray eyes on him. Her soft smile turned brilliant as she was overcome with joy. He was glad now that his mother had made him stay away when she picked her dress because nothing could compare to seeing her for the first time as she turned the corner to come be his bride. The strapless gown looked like it had been spun from fine silk designed specifically with her in mind. The soft gauzy material he had come to know through this whole experience was a creamy white organza, delicate and ethereal, as it crisscrossed and tiered the entire way down the fitted column of the gown to the flare of the skirt that swished like air as she began to walk slowly down the aisle to him. It was elegant, simple and refined, just like the woman inside of it.

Everyone's eyes centered on her. How could they not? She was the star of the show, lovely and flawless. And she was coming for him, to be his wife. He still couldn't believe this beautiful creature wanted to have him. He couldn't have been more humbled than he was at this very moment.

Carefully, she took her time with her heels on the uneven stone walk resting on her father's arm for support. The soft frilly strains of guitar music filled the air along with the sighs and declarations of enchantment as all of their loved ones watched her come down the aisle like a goddess. A quarter of the way down, she caught sight of Jimmy Quid and the bouquet in her free hand flew to her open mouth in surprise. The musician nodded a wink and a smile at her as he continued to play and she waved happily at him with her flowers. She was effervescent as her joy bubbled over onto everyone as she passed them by.

At last, she came to stand in front of him and her father handed her off like a delicate prize. House shook the man's hand and grabbed hold of hers after her cousin Jane had taken her flowers. Her fingers trembled in his hands and her lips quivered slightly as she looked up at him. Suddenly, her eyes brimmed with tears as she began to weep softly.

He cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her lightly on the lips. "No, shh, don't cry," he whispered.

She smiled a watery smile at him, laughing quietly at herself as she pressed her fingers under her nose. "I'm sorry, you just look so handsome."

He lifted the corner of his mouth into a self-deprecating grin. "I know it's shocking but you really don't need to cry about it, " he joked quietly to her.

She laughed nervously and pulled him to her in a hug. Her fingers played at the back of his head in his short hair and his hands smoothed over the soft folds of fabric on her waist. She felt like magic beneath him and he became lost in her for a moment.

The preacher cleared his throat and they stepped apart like two teenagers caught in an embrace. The older gentleman lifted an eyebrow at them and then winked. "That part comes later, _after_ I do my thing."

Their audience laughed though House was barely aware of it as he brought her knuckles to his lips to press a kiss there. His whole attention was on her, the light of his life standing before him, scared and nervous as they embarked together on this monumental journey. Oddly, he was the one who was grounded. He had been tense as anything before, when they were getting dressed and even as they walked to take their place on the altar. But as soon as he saw her, he was rooted to his spot ready, now more than ever, to commit to her on a whole new level. Seeing her brought a peace over him that washed away any reticent fears he may have held onto.

The preacher looked at them, giving them an expectant nod, "You ready?" _Yes, most definitely, he was. _Her bright smile told him she was, as well.

They shared a smile briefly looking into each other's eyes and then glanced at the man. He grinned warmly back and then looked out to the group of people. He was ready to begin.

"Dear friends and family, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join these two in holy matrimony. Remy and Greg have come here to celebrate their love with you today. We stand here in this lovely garden among the solace of nature and rejoice in that special day when these two people become bound to each other in mind and soul…

"A wedding marks the passage of time, a celebration of unity and love between two individuals who have found each other and have chosen each other above all others to embark on life together as a couple. It is the truth of finding the one real person who compliments the other without judgment but with support and unconditional love. Greg and Remy have found that in each other and love one another with a commitment of unbinding love. So we ask that you give your blessing to these two as they become united today and for all the days that come."

House glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw his mother sniffling into a tissue, her eyes red as she watched her only son get married for the first, and only, time. He smiled at her and she cried harder soothed gently by Nora's arm around her shoulder. The poor woman had waited a long time for this. She had the right to be a sniveling mess.

The preacher turned to Wilson and held out his hand for the rings. His best man pulled out the two tokens from his pocket and placed them in the man's palm. Taking each one in his fingertips, he held them up to the sky, giving them a silent blessing before handing House her ring. The man nodded to him to hold it over her finger. Her eyes began to water again and she sniffed back her happy tears. Her fingers trembled with her emotion but she smiled up at him lovingly, ready and willing to take the plunge with him.

The preacher said the words and he repeated them. "I, Greg, take you, Remy, to be my wife, my constant friend, my faithful partner and my love from this day forward. In the presence of our family and friends, I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live." He placed the ring on her finger slipping it easily over her knuckle to meet its twin that he had put there a month and a half ago. He held her fingers in his squeezing them in reassurance as he smiled at her.

The preacher gave her his ring and she placed it at the tip of his finger. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Looking into his eyes, she recited her vows to him with a tearful smile. "I Remy, take you, Greg, to be my husband, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live."

House's heart swelled with pride as she spoke the words to him. Her breath caught in her throat and she sniffled back another tear. He wiped the errant drop from her cheek with his thumb and smiled deeply at her as she went to slide his ring onto his finger. The ring got stuck over his knuckle and she began to laugh in panic as she futilely tried to get it over the bump. Her hands shook too much and it needed a little push to slip over the hump. She looked at him and then laughed again in relief as he helped it on for her. He stared at the shining platinum band on his finger for a moment. It looked right, like it belonged. A perfect fit.

"With the exchange of rings as a symbol of their vows, Remy and Greg have made a solemn promise to one another to be true and constant. What they have vowed together here today shall no one put asunder. By the power invested in me, by the State of New Jersey, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may _now_ kiss your bride!"

A round of applause rang out in the little grove as happy guitar music played echoing the sentiment of everyone around. House grabbed his wife in his arms, pulled her to him tightly and kissed her deeply and passionately with all the love and joy he felt for her. She kissed him back accepting all of his love and meeting him halfway with equal strength as she always had. She was his true soul mate. His anchor and his life. She was his everything.

Her hand touched his face as he pulled back away from her to look out at their family and friends. Everyone had happy tears in their eyes because they all knew how immense this was for both of them. Women dabbed at their mascara with tissues and men sniffed pretending they were unaffected by the emotion and sentiment. However, J. Terrance, who was no stranger to tears, blew his nose loudly into his paisley handkerchief. House chuckled and gave him the thumbs up. The little man caught it with his hand and mimicked putting it to his heart. House loved that little guy and he been a tremendous help to them throughout it all. So not only had he gained a wife, he had gained another quirky little friend.

Taking her hand and grabbing his cane from Wilson, House walked his new bride up the aisle. They passed all of their friends and family on the way. Cuddy and Lucas, Chase and Foreman, Taub and his wife. Her cousin's husband and their kids. Her friends from her past jobs. Nolan and his hot new girlfriend; _that_ he'd have to scope out _later_. His kooky friend Alvie. And Cole with Ridiculously Old Fraud. Stacey and her beautiful daughter. Nora with his mother and Aunt Sarah, in her Hermes silk scarf that J. Terrance had given her to cover her balding hair from chemo. All of them so proud and happy to see them. It was a nice feeling to see them all in such high spirits together.

When they reached the top of the path, he swept her into his arms and dipped her into a kiss that made her knees weak. Dotty and Eileen clapped heartily and squealed in delight. Their white ducks quacking merrily from the side as all of the children were let loose to roam free in the yard.

House ended the kiss and stood her upright, not letting her go. She placed her hand on the edge of his vest and looked into his face with her bright grin. He pecked her one more time and then wagged his eyebrows, feeling free and light for the first time in his life. "Let's party, woman!"

* * *

_Next, the Reception..._


	45. Chapter 45

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 45

Remy was ecstatic. She felt like she was walking on a cloud. Everything seemed like it was happening so fast but she loved it, every rapid second of it.

J. Terrance guided them over to the side by the patio so they could greet everyone in a receiving line of guests. House held onto her hand tightly. He tugged her close and whispered into her ear. "We have to talk to people?"

Laughing merrily, she placed her hand on his arm. "Yes, we have to talk to people. It'll be quick and painless."

Before he really had a chance to complain about it, their guests came up the aisle and were ushered over to them by the tiny wedding planner. He had no choice but to talk. And talk he did. He must have been riding his high from the ceremony because he smiled and laughed with everyone, shaking their hands and accepting their hugs graciously.

She felt like the president's wife, which was so cool, because seriously, he was like the Don and everyone around him just bowed in veneration to him. And she was his wife. It just couldn't be any more awesome than that.

She heard "beautiful" and "happy" and "lucky" so many times she thought her head might swell with all of the accolades. Foreman had hugged her so tight that she wondered if he was going to let her go. Something had clicked over in him since their conversation at the hospital and he was genuinely happy for both of them. He even gave House an awkward, and random, bro-hug that made House flinch a little with the fear that he was going in for a punch instead. Chase had nothing but well wishes as did Taub and Rachel. Cuddy cried streams of tears as she hugged House. She moved next to Remy and gave her a squeeze that was sincere and heartfelt.

"You are a very lucky woman," she said to her. "He is a special guy. You both will be greatly missed."

"Thank you," she told her contentedly, with a true feeling of respect for the woman. "That means a lot to me. I'm so glad you were able to come. It means a lot to _him_." She glanced at him as he shook hands with an older black man with a tall attractive woman. His grin split his whole face in two and Remy's heart soared. She had never seen him so cheerful.

"Thank you for recognizing that both of us needed a little intervention," Cuddy laughed with a self-deprecating shake of her head.

Remy shrugged with a chuckle, "What else is new…"

House slipped his hand lovingly around Remy's waist and tugged her to his side dragging her attention away from their former boss. She waved at Cuddy with the promise to talk with them later.

"Rem, this is Dr. Nolan," he introduced. "And, sorry, I forgot your name already."

"Shelia," the woman smiled pleasantly.

"Don't worry, he didn't call me by my name until this year," she said shaking the woman's hand.

"What? Thirteen is better than just a name, it's a term of endearment," he protested.

"For a racing horse," the gentle doctor took her hands in his and shook them. "Congratulations to you."

"Thank you so much," she said. "It's so good to finally meet you. I feel like I've known you for such a long time already."

"Likewise," he smiled and then his face warmed into an amused grin. "You are one brave woman to take on the challenge of this man."

She wrapped her arms around House's waist and his hands came to her back caressing her shoulders. He smelled so good in the warm sunshine. "You just gotta know how to seduce him right."

Dr. Nolan laughed. "Better you than me."

The couple moved on and Stacey appeared, lovely as always apparently, because House had just said so as he pulled his former love into a hug.

The dark haired woman smiled an emotional smile at him and returned his embrace with years of unspoken feeling. "This is going to sound strange but I'm so glad you invited me."

He grinned at her and shook his head in reminiscent disbelief. "I wouldn't have done all this if I hadn't met you that day."

She touched her hand to the side of his face and cooed at him like a mother hen. It made Remy laugh. "Ohhhh… you always did need a kick in the head to make you see what was right before your eyes."

"Not any more," he chuckled.

Shifted away from him, Stacey kissed Remy's cheek and patted her lovingly on the arm. "You are so lucky to have won the heart of such an amazing man. Bask in the glory of that."

"I will," she said and then watched her go join the other guests at cocktail hour.

House wrapped his arms around her then, holding her gently. He pressed a kiss to her lips and smiled. "You are so incredibly beautiful, do you know that?"

"So everyone keeps telling me," she laughed.

"It's no lie," he chuckled and brought his hand up to stroke her check. "What _are_ you doing with an old dog like me?"

Remy smiled brilliantly at him and touched her hand to his temple. "Lucky to be living the best version of my life with you."

He took her hand, kissed her knuckles and tucked her fingers against his chest as he held her. "I am the lucky one to find the only woman crazy enough to have me."

"Alright you ooey-gooey love birds," J. Terrance interrupted. "We have more work to do."

"What work?" House grumbled jokingly at him. "We're done. It's time to eat drink and be merry."

"Foolish mortal. We have pictures first." J. Terrance clucked his tongue at him and then brazenly tapped him on the nose. Remy's mouth gaped open as she glanced at House. He narrowed his eyes at their friend but then his face cracked into a smile.

"Pictures?" he half-whined. "Fine, I guess, since I did pay $3000 for that guy to be here."

Remy squeezed him. "I want tons of pictures that we can put all over."

"You mean those naked ones we took with the digital camera aren't good enough?" he quirked his eyebrows at her.

J. Terrance whispered behind his hand, "Um, you're gonna email me some of those, right?"

Remy laughed. "Haha, yeah, we'll get right on that."

They spent the better part of an hour taking all sorts of posed pictures and some not so posed. House was silly for most of them, either making goofy faces or gnawing on her neck or shoulder… or worse. J. Terrance popped in and out of the scene, hopping into their pictures with them, legs akimbo, tongues out like rockers or seductively licking each other like horny cats. Remy couldn't wait to see them. They must have been hysterical.

When it was finally time to join the rest of the party, they walked back up the path to the patio area where music played and little white twinkling lights sparkled from every hanging surface. It looked so magical, Remy's heart swelled. "Oh my God, Dotty and Eileen did such a gorgeous job."

"They listened to everything you wanted," he said squeezing her hand.

"They are amazing," she reveled.

J. Terrance came up behind them. "Ok your Royal Cutenesses… it's time to enter your party. Live it up and be the center of fabulousness."

"I'm always fabulous," House told him with a cheeky grin.

"Sweetie, you haven't been drinking enough yet to declare such a statement," J. Terrance chided him.

Remy pouted at her new husband. "I think you're always fabulous."

He arched a vindicated eyebrow at the little man. "She thinks I'm fabulous."

Blowing House a kiss, J. Terrance ignored him and made a motion to the DJ. Once he got a response, he then turned to them. "The MC is going to announce you with a big entrance and you'll go to the center of the floor and have your first dance together. I'll be off to the side to take your cane." The plucky little wedding planner was in full Generalissimo mode. He had this down to a science. Not one second went by without it being orchestrated.

House nodded and Remy just beamed in amazement at how easily he accepted all of this pomp and circumstance. He must have been delirious with joy. That or he hit his head really hard before they took their vows. Thank God they were getting some of this on camera for posterity and that everyone was here to witness it because not a single soul would believe her if they hadn't.

"Ladies and gentleman, if everyone would please rise. It is now time to bring out the couple you've all been waiting for. I'd like to introduce our MVP's of this bridal party, our hosts… The Doctors, Mr. and Mrs. …. Gregory and Remy House!"

"_Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I've got a bad case of loving you…"_

J. Terrance gave them a shove and Remy linked her arm with House's as they walked into that comical song, like they were superstars entering the field of play. Their friends and family laughed gladly along with them and clapped hands.

House stopped in the middle of the small dance floor, passed off his cane to J. Terrance and swept her into his arms like he was James Bond. Remy stared at him startled for a moment at his sudden suaveness and then melted into him as he pulled her close. She was loving this new side of him. It was undoubtedly sexy.

"Greg has picked a lovely song for his first dance with his bride, _Everything_, by Michael Bublè."

Remy smiled at him. "Next time we plan a wedding, I'm going to do it all so that I can surprise you with all of this amazing stuff."

He just grinned down into her face. "Hey, I gotta keep you on your toes since we're not at work anymore. Where's the challenge?"

The music started and he placed his hand in the small of her back, tucking her other hand against his lapel as he pulled her close and rested his head against the side of her face. Finally after all this time, it felt so natural to be this close to him in front of everyone. Like a joyful relief. He swayed lightly to the happy rhythm of the song taking her easily with him. When the lyrics began, he sang softly into her ear.

"_You're a falling star, you're the get away car…. You're the line in the sand when I go too far.  
You're the swimming pool, on an August day. And you're the perfect thing to say.._."

Remy sniffled back the tears that sprang to her eyes. She never thought anything could touch her more than all that he had already done for her. But the timbre of his deep voice quietly singing in her ear just moved her to tears.

"_And you play it coy, but it's kinda cute. Ah, when you smile at me you know exactly what you do. Baby don't pretend, that you don't know it's true. 'cause you can see it when I look at you…"_

Remy swiped at the tears running down the bridge of her nose as she smiled at her adoring husband. He just simply beamed down at her face as he continued to sing quietly to her. It was his little secret gift to her.

"_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times… It's you, it's you, you make me sing.  
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything_."

He spun her around and then took her back into his arms, making her laugh out loud blissfully. They continued to dance, blithely reveling in the spotlight. Remy truly was on a cloud. He was dashing and handsome and so attentive. She had never felt so special in all her life.

When the song ended they were able to mingle and eat. Champagne flowed, music played in the background while people chatted and ate the delicious food. As dinner wound down, the party ramped up and they danced. Boy did they dance. Remy felt like the queen of the ball. Everyone from Taub to Foreman, to Lucas and her dad, Alvie, Cole, Chase and Henry, all had their turn dancing with her. She must have danced three separate times with Wilson when he wasn't dancing like John Travolta with his tie around his head. House cut in on most of her partners, unable to keep his hands off of her and unwilling to share her for more than thirty seconds.

There was a round of shots at one point, she in the center of it all, and quickly afterward they made a promise to each other not to get too drunk so they could have all of their faculties to enjoy the after-party party.

Soon it was time for the cake cutting and the bouquet toss. All of the single ladies, which turned out to be a handful, gathered on the dance floor. Remy stood with their back to them. Nursing a glass of bourbon, House hung next to Chase and Wilson, who looked like he'd run a marathon, his brown hair sweaty and damp around the temples. Nora looked dubious as she gathered next to Cuddy. Shelia and a few of Remy's friends stood a little more toward the back. Stacey declined and stood off to the side observing in amusement.

"Rem send it my way, Baby, I've been waiting all year for Jack to get off his ass!"

"I need the mojo more than her, I don't even have a date for crying out loud!"

"We can't all be as lucky as you!"

"That's right ladies!" House hoisted his glass in agreement. "Who's the man? I'm the man."

Remy shook her head on a laugh.

"Ok, Remy…" the DJ said over the microphone, "On the count of three… One… Two… Three!"

Remy tossed her bouquet over her head and immediately spun around to witness the squeals and peals of laughter as educated, well respected women turned into greedy ravenous vultures, as if not winning the bouquet would mark them forever as desperate spinsters. The delicate yellow flowers arched over the group in slow motion into a cluster fuck of hands and manicured nails and the occasional bracelet, clutching and reaching for their salvation.

The satin ribbon found its owner. Remy gasped and then laughed hysterically clapping her hands with elation.

Cuddy.

The Wedding Gods had earmarked her as the next bride-to-be. Remy wrinkled her nose and looked at House who nodded back at her, tickled with the result. Wilson looked a little bummed but, truth be told, he wasn't in the market just yet to make Nora the fourth Mrs. Wilson.

The party wound down and they said goodbye to their guests. Wilson and Nora had a room at the bed and breakfast as well as his mother and Aunt Sarah. Having been worn out by the festivities, she had retired much earlier in the evening to the room she was sharing with Blythe.

"Finally, you planned a kick ass party where the cops didn't show up and someone didn't need CPR," Wilson expounded draping his arm around Nora's neck.

"And you kept your pants on," House laughed.

"And I kept my pants on," Wilson repeated with an amazed chuckle. "Fantastic all around."

"Congratulations to both of you," Nora said sweetly and kiss both of them on the cheek. Tapping Wilson's arm, she began to guide him to the stairs. "Cinderella's pumpkin is overdue."

They waved goodnight to them and turned to Blythe who was carrying her shoes in her hand. "Oh Gregory, I have never had such fun."

House kissed his mother on the cheek. "I'm glad you had such a good time."

She sighed breathlessly. "I won't be forgetting one second of it for quite some time."

Remy hugged her tightly. "Thank you so much for everything."

"Oh darling, thank you," she told her. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to my son. I am simply elated to call you my daughter now."

She kissed her son on the cheek and then headed to her room.

Dotty and Eileen approached House and Remy. "Everything has been transferred to the master suite," the older woman informed them.

"Candles are lit and there are strawberries and champagne, chilled and waiting for you," Dotty told them with a twinkle in her eye.

"Thank you for all you've done," House said shaking their hands. "You done more than I could have imagined."

"I can't tell you how beautiful everything was, " Remy said hugging them both. "You've made my dream day. Honestly."

"We are so glad to have had you," Eileen said. "It was our pleasure."

The two women retreated to their private area of the large house and left them to retire to their room as well.

Remy took hold of his hand and hitched up the hem of her dress as she climbed the stairs. Pausing for a moment on the first step, she turned and was eye level to him. She draped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him deeply. Pulling back, she looked mischievously into his eyes. "_Come on Goose, you big stuuuudddd, take me to bed or lose me forever…_"

He grinned at her and let his hands linger around her hips. "_As you wish_…"


	46. Chapter 46

Candy Canes and Mistletoe

Chapter 46

_A/N: Well, here it is boys and girls, the final chapter of our story. I can't tell you how much everyone's comments and love for this story has touch me. Thank you to all of you who have followed it from the beginning and to those who have favorited, reviewed and just simply loved this story as i wrote it. You guys are the best! This story is near and dear to my heart. What started out as a silly little one-shot turned into a passionate epic. But then again, nothing with these two is just a simple glance... In my fluffy heart, I believe that House has the capacity for great love. I want him to find this kind of happiness, and since they don't plan on giving him that in the show, I feel it's my duty to give it to him here._

_Thanks to Vanamo and Pyewacket75 for brainstorming with me and thanks to my beta Spot and Punk for skimming through my awful typing. We missed a few, I can see as I go back and read, but hey that's the dangers of autocorrect in Word! A blessing and a curse, I believe. You guys are an invaluable asset to me and I love you!  
_

_So, enjoy this last bit between our happy couple! And keep an eye out for some more stories about them. I've got some things in the works! Because I just can't help myself!  
_

* * *

House closed the door of the master suite behind him to see his new wife stare at him with a silver twinkle in her eye as she hung coyly from her hands on one of the tall posts of the antique bed. She spun to and fro like a little kid, slowly giving him a playful smile. He grinned back at her and began to unknot his already loosened tie. He unbuttoned his collar another button and slowly started to walk toward her. Since she had come down the aisle in that fabulous dress a few hours ago, all House could think about was getting her out of it. He had waited all day for this moment to be alone with her.

The room was dark except for the soft glow of about twenty candles placed strategically around the area to cast a dim romantic light. Their vanilla scent lingered subtly filing the air with a fragrant and mellow, sexy aroma. They had done their job because he had nothing but seduction on his mind.

When he reached her, she let go of the post and brought her hands to his vest. While her fingers worked the buttons, she smiled bewitchingly at him. He loved it when she smiled at him like that. It made him feel like he was invincible. His lips moved into a smile and House lifted his knuckles to caress the soft skin of her shoulders and down her slender arms. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the sensations because she felt like expensive silk.

Finishing with his vest, she slid her hands up the front of his shirt, smoothing her palms over his chest and then onto his shoulders pushing his jacket and vest off of his arms. He let the rented clothing fall to the floor and brought his hand up to cup the back of her head. He pulled out the pins that held her hair in place setting it free. The long, warm chocolate tresses fell over his wrist and onto his arm tickling him with their ends. Drawing her to him, he brushed his lips against hers and kissed her with a need that had been brewing all day. When they felt the insistence to surface for air, they pulled back slightly and just gazed into each other's eyes. She was so beautiful that she continually took his breath away.

His knuckles traced the edge of her collarbone and then skimmed the tops of her breasts at the edge of her dress. He dipped his fingers in teasing one of her nipples beneath the delicate silk. When she inhaled a swift breath, he grinned at her.

"I love this dress," he said. "But it's coming off."

On a slow exhale, she bit her lip between her teeth and went to turn around so he could unzip her.

"_Ok my little sex fiends, all is set. You have candles, music and plenty of sexual lube in the bathroom_…"

Startled by the unwanted presence in the room, House instantly pulled away from her. He placed his body in front of her, instinctively protecting her from their intruder.

J. Terrance.

_Was he fucking serious_?

Remy let out a little giggle behind his back and then stepped to the side when she realized who it was.

House stared at the prissy little man in anger. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

J. Terrance looked at him incredulously. "I'm making your little love nest sexy and obscenely prefect for your first night of connubial bliss. What did you think?" When House arched a dubious eyebrow at him, J. Terrance put his hands on his hips and then lifted his hooded eyes to him with a little glint. "Well… I could join you if that's what you'd like? I mean, I'm always game."

Remy laughed and touched her hand to House's arm staying him when he went to step forward and strangle the presumptuous little wedding planner.

"J.T. I think we're good on our own tonight," she told him.

"No, really?" House looked at her. "And that's sooo not the kind of threesome I was talking about."

J. Terrance threw his hands up in the air. "Oh, Sumptuous Sam, you are so missing out on a good time. But, alas…" he paused and shook his head. "I understand."

House limped to the door and opened it. "Get out."

"Ok, fine. I'm going," the diminutive man looked thoroughly offended and then turned to Remy melodiously. "You sure you have everything you need? You've got your sexy lingerie on… you've got champagne and strawberries right here on the coffee table." He gestured flamboyantly to the gold ice bucket and two champagne flutes. "And don't forget the lube, darlings, we don't want chaffing. There's vanilla and cherry. Oh and scented bath oil for that luxurious fuck tub." He bit the edge of his nail and rolled his eyes fancifully. "Oh the dirty things we could wash off in that tub…"

"Keep dreaming," House grumbled. "Thanks. You're fabulous, now seriously, _get out_."

The little man paused at the threshold of the door and then peered at him. "I ain't too proud to beg…" he said in a hushed voice.

"I'll kill you… and no one will be able to figure out how you died." House advanced on him and he scurried out of the door.

"Ok, love, love, love you, my beautiful princess…" he was blowing a stream of kisses when House slammed the door in his face.

House sighed and looked at Remy. She, of course, was amused by the whole situation and was laughing merrily as she slipped off her high heels. House was hot and bothered now but gazing at her in the golden candlelight took the fire right out of his irritation and he immediately stood down from being on the offensive.

"Thank god, he's gone. I was going to have to find something to sedate him with and then tie him up the out by the barn."

"He means well," she said.

There was a swift knock at the door. House dropped his head in exasperated defeat. _Who the hell was it now?_ At this rate, he was never going to get to touch his wife properly. Since he hadn't gotten but a single step from the door, he reached back and pulled it open.

J. Terrance looked at him with expectant, albeit slightly terrified, eyes. His finger was up begging for yet another second of their time. "Can I just… I just need one of those lubes…"

House stared at him open mouthed. He couldn't believe it, but then again he could. J. Terrance was a man with a mission. Always. Gesturing for him to come in a retrieve his object of desire, the little many hurried in on his tiptoes scampering into the bathroom. "There's this really hunky catering guy I'm gonna work my magic on, his name is Stefano. He's from Portugal…mmm-mmm hot damn! …. Which one do you guys want to keep, vanilla or cherry?" he poked from the bathroom.

House looked at Remy and screwed his face up into a contemplative frown. "Cherry?"

Her eyes grew big, as did her smile. "Definitely cherry."

"Take the vanilla," he motioned to him and shook his head in disbelief that they were even having this conversation. A second later, J. Terrance came hurriedly out of the bathroom. "Thanks bunches… now commence the hot sweaty naked marriage sex. Toodles!" He paused for two seconds as an after thought. "Car is coming for the airport at 8:30AM. Your bags are all packed and ready to do in the foyer… Ahh Tuscany," he trilled. "So viciously jealous, _Ciao Bellissimos_!"

And with that he practically ran out of the door.

House closed the door. And locked it.

"I don't care if the house is on fire, no one is coming in this room and we're not leaving, until I get me some hot sweaty naked marriage sex. At least twice."

Chuckling, she came over to him then and ran her hands up the front of his shirt again. Her hands slipped around his neck raking her fingers lightly against the back of his head in his hair. She pressed her lips to his and kissed him heatedly reigniting the desire that was so rudely interrupted.

"Hot sweaty naked marriage sex, Take Two," she whispered against his lips before trailing sizzling kisses down the side of his neck.

House laughed deep in his chest and took possession of her mouth again. His tongue swept deeply into her mouth, tasting her sweetness. She was so warm, so inviting. He could always lose himself in her every time he kissed her. Touching her was like finally coming home.

Slowly, he pushed her backwards until she was close to the bed. She turned around for him and he smoothed his hands over the curve of her back before finding the small tug on the zipper. The top of the dress dipped below her shoulder blades and he pressed soft kisses to each one before pulling the catch down bit by bit until the opening fell to the sides. Gently he slipped his hands inside her dress and flattened his palms against her ribcage, pulling her against his chest. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts in her stiff bra. Taking one hand, he flicked the clasps open and removed the garment setting her breasts free. She sighed and dropped her head back against his shoulder in relief. Her hand came up to touch the back of his head as he brought both hands back to cup her breasts in his palms. Always a boob man, he liked the perky fullness of her breasts and the way they filled his palms. He tweaked her nipples lightly between his fingers bringing them to hard little buds. She moaned softly under his touch and he breathed in the lingering scent of her vanilla perfume on her neck.

The dress began to slip down to her waist so he held her hand as she carefully stepped out of the garment and tossed it aside onto the bench that was in front of the bed. She had on those sexy stockings that clipped to a lacy belt and he felt his groin tighten further from the sheer visual of it.

"My god," he grumbled into her ear. "If I had known you had those on while you were rubbing your ass on my crotch all night, I think I might have taken you behind a bush and had my way with you much earlier."

She responded with a giggle and rubbed her pert little ass against his hips. "I knew you'd like them."

"Oh I do," he said running his hand over her hip to the juncture of her thighs and covered her heat. "I like them a lot."

"Good," she cooed and proceeded to rub harder against his erection. Her hands pulled his hips closer. "Do you want me in them or out of them?"

House let out a low growl as he dragged his tongue down the column of her throat. "In them." _Oh god, what her ass was doing to him as she ground her hips into him._

"Well then you need to get out of these," she said and she turned around in the circle of his arms. Her fingers began unbuttoning his shirt, making fast work of them. She had his shirt undone and sliding off his arms quickly before moving eagerly onto the hook of his pants. The light fabric collapsed down his legs and he stepped out them pulling off his socks and boxers as he went.

Once he was completely naked, House took her lithe body into his arms again and kissed her hungrily, their hands roaming over every surface, touching, feeling, and kneading. The feel of her bare skin against his was so erotic. He brushed kisses along her shoulders, neck, and jaw line. Her teeth nipped at the skin over his collarbone and her polished fingernails drew rough marks along his back and waist as she came around to his stomach. Her hand slid lower and gripped him tightly. He let out a hiss of satisfaction, feeling her fingers on him, stroking him to a higher state of desire.

Not so gently, he pushed her back against the turned down sheets on the bed making the springs of the mattress rattle a little with the weight of both of them. She let out a squeal of delight and laughed as she inched herself backwards giving him room to place himself in between her thighs. Positioning himself over her, he took one of her pert nipples into his mouth causing her to arch her back and moan out in pleasure. Her fingers raked through his hair as she tilted her head to observe what he was doing. Eyeing her as she watched, he gave her a devilish smile and moved his attention to her other breast. He took a detour and kissed a freckle that she had on the soft swell of her breast before circling his tongue around its peak. She cried out in pleasure and then dragged her ankle up the side of his hip bringing her leg around his waist. The feel of her silky stocking against his skin drove him wild.

He slid his hand down the sweep of her waist to the beautiful curve of her hip following the path with his lips. Her eyelids hung low and a slow smile burned on her lips as the watched him. She was so exquisite that he wanted to savor every moment of this. There was only one chance to make love to his wife for first time. He wanted them both to remember this as special as the first time he made love to her, that incredible night when he knew that he would never be the same after touching her.

She hooked her leg around his middle and rolled him over so that his back was flat against the cool cotton of the bedcovers taking control. With the way she made love to him, he was more than willing to let her drive. Straddling his hips, she leaned forward and kissed a path down his chest to his stomach and then back up again, her hair tickling him as she went. Lacing her fingers in his, she pulled him to sitting so that they were face to face in the middle of the large bed, eyes locked on one another. Her deep endless eyes stared longingly at him as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, pushing her panties to the side and guiding him into her. They both let out a sigh of contentment, neither of them moving, only holding onto each other as they adjusted to the feel of being united in the most primal way possible. She wanted no pretense, only to be connected to him as lovers should.

House's hands splayed against her smooth delicate back as her arms draped over his shoulders bringing her lips to his. She kissed him slowly, passionately caressing him with her tongue. When they kissed like this, it was as if the whole world stood still. Like they were the only two people on Earth. She moaned softly in the back of her throat and began to move taking him out of her before sliding back deeply, her feet anchored against the mattress for leverage. House exhaled and let his head tip back on the sensation of being sheathed fully inside her. She felt slick and hot and his pulse began to quicken.

Gripping his fingers into her hips, he guided her and set the pace, nice and slow. Long strokes fully in and then out, feeling every inch of her along the way. Once she was moving languidly, he spread his fingers along her back and pulled her close to him so he could kiss the elegant ridge of her collarbone. He followed the scent of her perfume with his nose down into the valley of her breasts all the while feeling the coil tighten deep in his core. She was fantastic. Everything about her filled him with such a sense of completion.

A light sheen of sweat began to mist on her skin as she continued to move over him. Her breaths came in quiet moans and she was purring against him as she threw her head back giving him access to the slick arc of her throat. He dragged his lips down her neck, breathing in her scent, the heady mixture of cinnamon vanilla haze and feral woman. His heart began to pound in his chest and his breathing sped up rapidly as she accelerated her pace, pushing faster and deeper. The apex of her core rubbed against him heightening her sensations. Slipping his hand in between them, he rubbed her with his thumb stimulating her to a feverish pitch. Soon neither one of them could hold back any longer, as she bucked her hips against him, stroking him long and full. Arching her back, she cried out as her slick muscles tightened convulsively and pulsed around him taking him with her as she tumbled into orgasmic ecstasy.

They stilled finally, breathing each other in. His eyes grew serious and his brow furrowed as his mood changed from wild hot desire to everlasting reverence for the woman in his arms. He swallowed his heart as it hammered in his throat, his breath coming heavily through his nose. His eyes felt hot and his hands shook against her back. "I love you, so much."

She touched her hand to his face and kissed him gently on the lips, dipping her tongue in sweetly to taste him. "And I love you more than I ever thought I could."

He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to the back if her knuckles looking at her two rings on her finger. "You are my world, my beautiful, sexy wife."

"Mmm," she purred touching her lips to his damp neck. "Say it again."

"What?" he chuckled against her cheek. "Beautiful or sexy?"

"No, silly, _wife_." She laughed airily against him and lightly smacked his shoulder.

"Ah," he smiled. "My wife. My wife. _My wife_."

"I love the sound of that coming from your lips," she said touching her fingers that part of his anatomy and then placed a kiss there.

House sighed contentedly, and kissed her. He didn't want to let her go just yet, but he felt himself slowly beginning to slip out of her. Quickly, he laid her down on her side and snuggled up against her, brushing an errant strand of hair out of her face. He looked into her eyes and knew that this was the last woman he would ever be with. No one could replace her in his heart, because in simple terms, she had _become_ his heart. She was his missing puzzle piece, the final solution to the mystery. She was his joyful love, his carnal addiction and his saving grace.

The song he had picked for her was perfect…

She was indeed his _Everything_.

_The End_


End file.
